


Life with Avengers (Reader-Insert)

by KaiserinCheshire



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserinCheshire/pseuds/KaiserinCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Read and find out.<br/>This is on Quotev and Wattpad.</p><p>Wattpad<br/>https://www.wattpad.com/story/9960545-life-with-avengers-reader-insert</p><p>Quotev<br/>http://www.quotev.com/story/4008873/Life-with-Avengers-Reader-Insert</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read and find out.

_"Director Fury, you are needed in your office immediately_."  
Agent Hill's voice sounded oddly strained over the intercom system, and Fury was instantly set on edge. He swept from the bridge and headed quickly down the hallways to his office, grumbling under his breath.  
"Hill," he announced as he rounded the last corner. "If the new agents have locked themselves in the armory again, I am leaving their dumb asses there until September."  
Hill cleared her throat, glaring slightly at him. Fury stopped cold in the hallway, utterly stunned at her audacity. As he stared at her, his shock was rapidly degenerating into anger when she flicked her eyes meaningfully downward. Following her line of sight, the director finally laid eyes on what had his first officer looking so haggard.  
Clutching tightly to Hill's hand was a small girl of no more than five, covered from head to toe in princess pink clothes. A glittery, rose-colored, rolling suitcase stood innocuously to her left. The little girl's (Y/E/C) eyes were uncharacteristically solemn for a child as she stood outside his door, gripping a worn teddy bear. Her hair was done up in two pigtails and, with a flash, Fury realized that he'd only ever seen that particular shade of (Y/H/C) on one other head.  
"This is (Y/N) Coulson, sir," Hill revealed, stressing the last name ever so slightly. Hill tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear in an uncommonly nervous gesture as the puzzle pieces began to click into horrifying place for Fury. "She's five, and she's here looking for her guardian."  
**~Flashback~**  
_"Director?"_  
_Fury looked up from his paperwork to see Coulson standing in the doorway, fiddling with a pair of large manila envelopes. Putting down his pen, Fury gestured to the lone chair in front of his desk. Coulson hesitated, igniting Fury's curiosity, but ultimately sat and opened his mouth to speak._  
_When he showed no signs of actually saying anything, Fury gently prompted him. "Phil?"_  
_Coulson seemed to shake himself from his stupor. "As you know, sir," he began briskly. "I've recently returned from my sister's funeral."_  
_"I am aware, Phil," Fury replied, steepling his fingers under his chin. "I'm sorry, for your loss," he added sincerely._  
_Coulson nodded. "Thank you, but that's not why I'm here." He laid the two envelopes on the desk, sitting straight backed in the chair. "I'm here to settle my affairs."_  
_Fury raised a very incredulous eyebrow, somewhat amused. "Feeling a little peaky, Phil?"_  
_"No sir," Coulson replied with the faintest hint of a smile. "I feel fine. But this is a dangerous job sometimes and I have to provide for (Y/N) now."_  
_Fury looked up sharply. "Who, exactly, is (Y/N)?"_  
_"(Y/N) is my niece," Coulson explained patiently, giving Fury the idea that this was information he should have known. "She's nearly three now. Since my sister lost her battle with cancer, I have been named as (Y/N)'s guardian. I need to make arrangements for her, in case something should happen to me."_  
_"Arrangements?"_  
_Coulson smirked, and Fury had the fleeting thought that he'd made a mistake when he made Coulson Barton's handler. "I do believe I've surprised you, Director Fury."_  
_Fury leveled a glare at Coulson, slightly irritated when it seemed to have no effect. "You're not planning on bringing the kid here, are you? While I do claim to run a daycare of sorts, I'm generally not serious."_  
_Coulson sobered. "Of course not, sir. She'll live at my home in Annapolis with her nanny. This is only in case of extremities."_  
_"Okay then," Fury leaned back in his chair. "What's your plan?"_  
_"This envelope," Coulson indicated the top packet. "Is for you. I make contact with (Y/N) every night, unless I'm on a mission, in which case she and the nanny are aware that I'm busy. If I do not make contact within ninety days, and I have not informed them of a mission of any sort, the nanny is to assume that no contact will be made."_  
_"That's where I come in," Fury finished, eyeing his agent._  
_Coulson nodded. "Yes sir. A GPS locator will inform the nanny where the helicarrier is stationed and she has ample funds to bring (Y/N) here, where she will remain until Agent Barton can take over."_  
_Fury stilled. "Barton?"_  
_Coulson, bless his trusting soul, looked confused. "That is correct, sir. The second packet is everything that he needs to know to handle the affairs."_  
_Fury leaned forward, pointing a finger at Coulson. "Let me get this straight. When you kick it, you are leaving the charge and care of a three year old with the Hawk?"_  
_Coulson's eyes were suddenly flinty and Fury had the idea that his best agent had never been so close to insubordination. "I trust Clint Barton with my life. How could I not trust him with hers?"_  
_With a murmured goodbye, Coulson abruptly departed and left Fury sitting at his desk, thoroughly bewildered._  
**~End of Flashback~**  
"Sir?" Hill's concerned voice snapped him from his memories, and his eye once again focused on the somber little girl.  
Holding out his hand, he took hers, opening his office door and nudging the child in. The girl set her suitcase against the far wall and pulled out a coloring book, curling up in the corner of the room. Fury forced his gaze to Hill's face.  
"Get Barton back here. Now."


	2. Chapter 2

August  
It only took Clint half a day to make it from the mansion to where the helicarrier was stationed, but it had taken more than twice that for Natasha and the rest of the team to convince him to return in the first place.  
Truthfully, it had been more Steve than the others, and all he had said was that Fury must really need Clint if he was calling. Clint's reply had been to climb into the air vents for three hours and speak to no one.  
Most of the badgering had come from Natasha, and Clint had somehow forgotten how irritating she could be when she wanted to. He finally left for the helicarrier, simply to get away from her nagging. Telling her that, however, was not one of his better plans, he mused as he rubbed at the bruise she had left on his bicep.  
He and Natasha had purloined a Quinjet when they'd left SHIELD, to Fury's irritation, but he was glad for its handiness. He landed the jet smoothly on the deck of the helicarrier and spied Agent Hill waiting for him. He disembarked tense and confrontational, feeling much like an angry cat. Hill said nothing, simply opening one of the doors to the interior. Indicating that he should follow, she led him through the corridors to Fury's office.  
"I know how to get there, Agent Hill," he said defensively, ducking past a gaggle of new agents that moved quickly out of the way.  
"I know," she replied, not wavering from her course. The repairs on the helicarrier were nearly finished, but Clint's sharp eyes could pick out newer pieces mixed in with the original work. It made him squirm inside. The guilt would overwhelm him if he let it, so he acted instinctually, lashing out.  
"What's the matter, Maria?" His voice was slightly taunting as he lengthened his stride to walk beside her, rather than behind. "Don't trust me alone anymore?"  
Hill whirled on her heel and the move was so unexpected that Clint nearly clipped her temple with a reflexive right hook. Forcibly restraining himself, he settled for glaring at her, but the expression on her face completely surprised him. Her eyes were suspiciously bright and, had she been anyone other than a SHIELD agent, she'd probably be crying.  
"I am not escorting you because I don't trust you, Agent Barton, because I do. You're you again, and that's all that matters." To say that he was stunned would be the biggest understatement of the century, but Hill wasn't finished. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this for her."  
She spun around and resumed her path to the director's office. Clint was motionless for a moment, but ran to catch her when she turned another corner. "What do you mean, her?" He followed her a little dazedly. "Did Tash ask you to keep an eye on me or something?"  
"Not Natasha," Hill finally replied softly, knocking on Fury's door. There was a curt admittance from inside and she turned the knob, pointing. "Her."  
Clint stepped around Hill and settled his gaze on a small girl, who looked up from her coloring book at his arrival. He glanced up at the director with bemused eyes. "There's a kid in your office, boss."  
"Very astute of you, Barton," Fury replied dryly, picking up an envelope from his desk and standing. The girl watched Clint intently as Hill folded herself into a seated position next to her. Clint could feel her little eyes follow him as Fury shoved him out into the hallway.  
Eyeing the envelope that Fury was holding out to him, Clint took it gingerly. Rather than open it, he shot the director a questioning look. "What's going on, sir?"  
"Read it." Fury nodded to the packet in his hands, folding his arms and subtly shifting to stand in front of the doorway.  
Clint cocked his head. "You brought me all the way out here to the helicarrier to read a mission brief?"  
"Does that look like a mission brief to you, Agent Barton?" Clint was taken aback at the sharp tone of Fury's voice. Deciding that the wiser course of action was to simply read whatever was in the envelope, Clint cracked open the top and pulled out the first sheet of paper.  
It was a letter, and as he scanned it, he grew more and more horrified. Fury watched the expression on his face with unseen trepidation, wishing, not for the first time, that Clint's handler was still alive. The archer shook his head furiously, his hands trembling as he replaced the letter in the envelope and shoved it at Fury.  
"I can't do this."  
Fury forced himself to be patient. "You are taking this child, Barton. One way or another."  
Clint balked. "What the fucking hell am I supposed to do with a kid?"  
"Use decent language, for starters." Fury glared at him.  
The archer gaped. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Fury sighed.  
"There isn't a choice here, Barton. She can't stay on the helicarrier, and you're her legal guardian. You, at least, are living in a somewhat stable environment." Fury looked seriously into Clint's eyes, clapping him on the shoulder in support. "This was Phil's choice."  
The look in Barton's eyes nearly cracked his façade. "Why?"  
Fury softened. "Because he trusted you more than anyone else." Clint tore his eyes from Fury's gaze. "We have her things ready. It's time to take her home."  
Clint didn't speak to her for the length of the ride back to the mansion, choosing instead to mutter obscenities to himself like a half-crazed madman. The girl sat silently in one of the passenger seats, arms locked around her bear. Clint would glance at her every once in a while, loudly cursing Phil.  
When they finally caught sight of the mansion's landing pad late that night, both Clint and the girl were relieved. He landed the plane jerkily, not at all with his usual finesse, and took off down the gangplank like a shot, bellowing for Natasha.  
In hindsight, Clint decided that screaming like a banshee for his partner after his first solo trip to the helicarrier was not his best plan ever. The mansion emptied in a flash, Natasha arriving first at the landing pad with her guns drawn. Steve, Bruce, and Tony trailed her, not in uniform, but battle ready. Seeing that he was in perfect health, albeit somewhat frantic, Natasha holstered her weapons and pulled him into a brief hug.  
"Damn it, Clint, I thought something had happened to you," she scolded him lightly. "You're not hurt, so what is it?"  
Clint opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked helplessly at her, finally meeting her gaze. "What the fuck was Phil thinking," he asked, his voice breaking, and Natasha had no reply.  
Steve stepped forward, his brow furrowed with confusion and concern. "Clint, what happened?"  
The carefully calm tone of Steve's voice grated on Clint's frayed nerves, shattering what composure he had left, and he pulled the folded envelope from the waistband of his jeans with irritation. Slapping it into Steve's chest, he pushed past the group and strode into the mansion.  
Steve watched Natasha jog after him with a frown. Deciding to leave Clint to his partner, he pulled open the flap and scanned the information inside. Tony and Bruce watched with interest as his face grew more shocked by the second, until Steve dropped the envelope to the ground and ran into the jet.  
The little girl, (Y/N), was still belted into the passenger seat, tears streaming steadily down her face. Steve made an inarticulate noise in the back of his throat and she whirled, her eyes frightened.  
"Hey there, sweetheart," he murmured as she curled her arms around her drawn up knees. Swallowing nervously, he knelt beside her chair. "My name is Steve Rogers."  
There was shift in her stance, a loosening of the death grip she had on her legs, and Steve was never so glad that Phil Coulson had been a fan of Captain America. He smiled gently at her. "I bet your Uncle Phil told you stories about me, huh?"  
Wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve, she nodded, her breath coming in soft little gasps as she tried to stop crying. Steve waited patiently for her to get her bearings, and then began to talk her through the process of extricating her from the Quinjet. When he unbuckled the latch, she slowly unfolded herself, her eyes never leaving his face.  
"I'm going to pick you up, sweetheart, and we're going to go into the mansion, okay?"  
(Y/N) hesitated, and Steve held his breath, waiting for her to make a move. He nearly sighed with relief when she scooted to the edge of the seat and raised her arms. He gently lifted her from the seat, his heart warming when she curled desperately into his grip. Spying her little pink suitcase as he walked towards the gangplank, he picked it up on his way past.  
Tony and Bruce were still standing outside, the sheaf of papers in Bruce's hands indicating that they were fully briefed on the situation. They glanced up when he started down the gangplank and Steve shifted (Y/N) to rest on his hip, somewhat facing the others.  
"(Y/N), this is Tony." He gestured to the billionaire. Tony was eyeing the girl with an odd look, something mingled between sympathy and terror. He eventually nodded at her in recognition and stepped forward, taking the suitcase from Steve's hand.  
"And this," Steve smiled gratefully at Tony and turned to Bruce. "Is Bruce." Bruce smiled softly, throwing up his hand in a little wave. They stood quietly for a few moments, uncertain, until Tony rallied himself.  
"Shall we take this inside?" he said cordially, trying for a bit of levity to the situation. The hodgepodge group made it to the kitchen, where the harshness of the lighting only served to highlight the peculiarity of the scene.  
Clint was sitting silently on the couch, his face bleak, as Natasha hovered over him like a mother hen. Steve walked past them with a glance at the pair and set the girl on the kitchen table, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket. The strangeness was broken for a moment when Tony snorted.  
"Really?" he asked, eyeing the simple piece of cloth in Steve's hand. "You carry handkerchiefs?"  
Steve rolled his eyes. "Yes, Tony. I carry handkerchiefs." He dried the girl's cheeks, frowning at the tear tracks in the dust on her skin. "I think she's going to need a bath before we put her to bed."  
"Girl job," Tony voted immediately. He gestured to Natasha. "Nat, you have girl parts. You do it."  
Natasha glared at him, but a subtle motion from Clint pushed her towards the kitchen. Standing in front of the little girl, Natasha eyed her with some curiosity. After a small pause, she held her hands out for (Y/N) to grab. Without hesitation, the little girl grasped her palms and Natasha helped (Y/N) hop down from the counter. Bruce handed the redhead the pink suitcase as she lead (Y/N) upstairs to the spare room. Pointing a finger at Tony on her way past, she warned, "Call me Nat again, Stark, and wake up blind."  
Tony sent a smirk Bruce's way, unable to help himself from rising to the bait. "How do I wake up if I call you cupcake?"  
"Genderless."  
He opened his mouth again when her back was turned, but Steve slapped a hand over it, waiting until the pair was upstairs. Tony glared mildly at him, arms crossed. Once Natasha turned on the taps, Steve looked at Clint, letting his breath out in a soft whoosh. "This is surprising."  
"If by surprising, you mean that Phil was a raging lunatic, then yes, this is surprising," Clint snapped, the stress of the day finally culminating. Burying his face in his hands, he whispered hopelessly, "I can't do this."  
Looking up, he was taken aback at the expression on Steve's face. The Captain had never looked so stern. "You don't have a choice," Steve said flatly, crossing his arms. "That little girl is your responsibility, and you owe it to your friend to help her."  
Clint slowly leaned back, face blank. "You misunderstand, Captain." He sounded brittle, and oh so terrified. "I. cannot. do this."  
Steve laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, allowing the weight to reassure Clint. "You're all she has left."  
Clint snorted, his eyes grim. "And who do I have? I don't know the first thing about taking care of a kid."  
"You have us," Steve murmured. Clint glanced up at him, then quickly away. There was an expression of pure sincerity on Steve's face that clenched at his gut. Looking at Tony and Bruce was similarly unhelpful, each of them meeting his gaze with the same frankness as Steve. The sound of the bathwater draining trickled down the stairs, unnoticed.  
The men were silent for a few minutes, none of them really wishing to deal with the emotions that were clearly being displayed. A low thump on the stairs finally caught their attention and the moment was broken, to Clint's gratitude. Natasha led (Y/N) down the stairs, slightly damp and clad in a purple flowered nightgown.  
At Steve's questioning look, she replied with the slightest hint of exasperation in her voice. "She won't stay in the spare room. I kept putting her back to bed and she kept following me out into the hall."  
Bruce and Tony looked at each other, confused, and Steve felt like rolling his eyes at their ignorance of all things small children. Crouching down in front of (Y/N), he smiled sympathetically. "Is your new room a little scary?"  
(Y/N) hesitated, but caved under the force of Steve's gentle gaze and nodded slightly.  
He nodded back, thinking for a second. "Do you want someone to stay with you in your new room?" Another small nod. "You can have anyone you want to stay with you. Just point to them." Her hesitation was longer this time, but she finally reached over and tugged on Natasha's pants leg.  
"Alright then," Natasha murmured, raising a brow at Steve and glancing worriedly at Clint.  
"We'll take care of Clint," Steve assured her quietly. Frowning for a second, he reached forward and placed his palms securely over (Y/N)'s ears. "I know this is going to seem strange, but you have to stay with her until she wakes up."  
Natasha's eyebrow returned to its arched position, her face impassive. He struggled to find the right words, before opting for the plain truth. "I know what it's like to wake up somewhere unfamiliar, alone. And that will do her more harm than good. So it might be an inconvenience tonight, but I think it'll help in the long run."  
She met his pleading eyes for a moment, then visibly softened. Shooting him a small smile, she tugged (Y/N) closer, picking her up. "For Phil," she murmured gently, "it's no inconvenience."  
"I'd like to think that we're making some progress," Bruce commented to Tony, roughly a week after they'd acquired their new houseguest. "Except I haven't seen her with anyone but Steve or Natasha, so I'm not certain this is a we kind of thing."  
Tony snorted, sipping at his coffee. "That kid hasn't left his side all morning."  
The pair watched the little girl toddle relentlessly after Steve as he methodically went about making breakfast for the team. The Captain had adapted to his small shadow with all the grace and equanimity that they'd come to expect from him, and the little girl obviously had a case of hero-worship that rivaled her Uncle Phil's. Tony's words finally hit Bruce and he turned to the billionaire, amused. "It's only nine."  
Tony drained his mug and poured himself another. "I've been up here since four. They came down around six. Ergo, all morning."  
Bruce simply shook his head, grinning. Gesturing towards mismatched pair at the stove with his tea, he asked, "So, are we going to watch them all morning or do we have plans?"  
"Plans," Tony replied firmly. "JARVIS, send the newest blueprints of the Hulk-Out Room to Bruce's tablet."  
"I already have, sir. Will there be anything else at the moment?"  
The instant she heard JARVIS's voice, (Y/N) froze mid-step. Staring wide eyed at the ceiling, she seemed to realize that it was where the voice was emanating from and shrieked aloud, sliding beneath the table.  
Tony and Bruce watched her blankly as she cowered, her legs curled beneath her. Steve dropped the skillet he was holding and knelt. "(Y/N),"he called, peering under the table. "Sweetheart, it's okay. There's no reason to be afraid of JARVIS."  
The look she shot him in response was equal parts adorable and heartbreaking. Tony set his mug on the counter and sat down beside Steve, cross-legged. "Come on, kiddo," he entreated. "He's my," he trailed off, glancing at Bruce, who shrugged. "He's my special helper."  
"He's a computer," Steve added, ignoring the look Tony shot in his direction. "There's not a man that lives in the ceiling."  
(Y/N) relaxed slightly, but didn't budge otherwise. Tony frowned, nearly as upset as the girl. "There's nothing wrong out here," he assured her. "You don't have to hide. I'll even turn him off."  
"He promises," Steve added sincerely.  
Tony nodded. "And Steve will make you cookies." The proposed baker glanced at Tony, one eyebrow raised in question. Tony studiously ignored him. "You like cookies, right, kid?"  
"Seriously?" Steve muttered as (Y/N) nodded, beginning to crawl from her hiding spot. "It's barely nine in the morning."  
Tony continued to ignore him. "Of course you like cookies. What kid doesn't like cookies? Cookies are great," he rambled. (Y/N) sat in front of him, quietly listening. "I love them. Chocolate chip cookies, those are some seriously awesome snacks. Infinitely better than oatmeal raisin. The oatmeal part is fine. Raisins, however, are disgusting. You think they're chocolate and you bite in and it's a mouthful of fruit. Who wants fruit in their cookie? No one."  
When he stopped to breathe, she scooted the last few inches out from beneath the table and looked over at Steve, who was still crouching at Tony's side. Tony paused, mimicking her. Steve blinked. "What?"  
"Cookies, Stars and Stripes," Tony scolded. "She's out from under the table. She gets cookies."  
(Y/N) smiled shyly at Steve, who stood up to her silent pleas like wet paper. "I'll preheat the oven."  
"For what?" Natasha entered the kitchen, Clint trailing in behind her.  
"Steve is making cookies," Tony announced as Bruce shook his head and murmured, "You really don't want to know."  
Natasha ignored Bruce and narrowed her eyes at the billionaire. "Why is Steve making cookies for breakfast?"  
"Who cares?" Clint asked, hopping up on the counter and stealing what remained of Tony's coffee. "Cookies."  
Tony glared at him for the theft of his caffeine, but Natasha stepped in front of Clint to regain the billionaire's attention. "I care."  
Tony shrugged. "No real reason. Spangles has a sweet tooth." He turned deceptively innocent eyes to her. "You should scold him for that."  
Steve shook his head as he began placing the necessary ingredients on the table. Natasha's eyes darted between the table, the men in the kitchen, and (Y/N), who was still sitting on the floor. "Why is (Y/N) sitting down there?"  
"She was tired," was Tony's swift reply and, as the redhead rounded on him, he bit back a wince.  
"Then why isn't she sitting on a chair?"  
Tony scoffed. "Kids sit on the floor. She's a kid."  
"Something that you clearly have no experience with, since she still looks a little gun-shy from whatever it is you did to her," Natasha retorted smoothly, crossing her arms over her chest. Tony remained stubbornly silent, and so she sighed. "JARVIS."  
"No!" three of the four men yelped. Clint watched, bemused, as Tony slammed his palms over (Y/N)'s ears and hissed at Natasha. "He scares her."  
Her gaze turned icy. "You terrified that poor child?"  
"Not on purpose," he protested, using the aforementioned child as a small shield from the increasingly angry spy. "I had no idea, I really didn't. I thought she'd heard JARVIS talk before, but it seems I was mistaken."  
Natasha gave him a final glare, taking pity on him upon seeing his veiled regret, and bent to look at (Y/N). The pair had somehow developed a silent mode of communication, much to Tony's fascination, and when Natasha finally straightened, she appeared much less prone to violence.  
"You can live," she murmured, flicking her eyes at Tony as she turned to get a glass of water. "For now."  
Tony expelled a small sigh of relief, to Clint's amusement, and relaxed. Measuring Steve's progress, he glanced down at (Y/N). "Looks like he's going to be a while. Go play."  
There was a beat before she moved, as though the little girl was contemplating whether or not to actually obey Tony's command, but (Y/N) eventually left the kitchen and picked up her ratty teddy bear.  
Tony frowned. "What is with the bear?"  
"I think it's the only thing she has," Steve replied as he sifted flour into the bowl.  
Natasha rolled her eyes as Tony watched (Y/N) mime having a tea party at the lounge table. "I can't believe you're actually making cookies for breakfast."  
"Dude." Clint stared at his partner in disbelief. "Cookies."  
The two agents continued to bicker as Tony quietly slipped away to the lab. Locking the door behind him, he sat down at his desk. "JARVIS, stop all communications with anyone so long as (Y/N) is in the room."  
"Of course, sir. I have already adapted to the situation."  
"Naturally. I programmed you." Tony fiddled with one of the pens Bruce had left scattered over the desktop after their last brainstorming session. The good doctor had an unhealthy obsession with pen and paper, which only Steve could appreciate. Realizing his mind was wandering, Tony shook his head. "JARVIS, what's the most popular children's toy store?"  
"Locally, or nationally?"  
"Local." A detailed and labeled map of the shopping districts spanning the whole of New York popped up on the screen in front of him. Tony frowned at the riot of color on the display. "Give me the south half of the state."  
The map flickered and reappeared with fewer dots clustered around the major cities. "It appears that FAO Schwartz and Toys R Us are the major retailers of children's toys, sir." JARVIS brought up both product websites for the companies on a separate screen, listing all of the toys for girls, ages four to seven. "What would you like to purchase for Miss (Y/N)?"  
"It's (Y/N)," Tony corrected absently, eyes fixated on the myriad of pink and princess themed toys. "What do girls like to play with?" Before JARVIS could research the most popular toys for young girls, Tony waved his hand. "Forget it. Order one of everything."  
"Are you quite certain, sir? You may need to purchase a house to store Miss (Y/N)'s new acquisitions."  
"I so often forget that I programmed snark into you," the billionaire commented lightly, trashing the holographic images on the screen. "Just do it. She can have a couple of floors in the Tower for any overflow."  
"Obviously." JARVIS's reply was a dry as it could be. There was a pause as JARVIS executed Tony's orders. "The shipments should arrive within a week."  
Tony slapped his hands together with a sense of accomplishment and headed back to the kitchen. "You're my favorite," he called back over his shoulder.  
"I'm touched, sir."  
The household came downstairs four days later to a lounge mysteriously filled with shipping boxes. Steve simply ignored the pile, stepping into the kitchen to dole out cups of coffee and begin breakfast preparations. Natasha helped (Y/N) down the stairs a few minutes after, followed by Bruce and Tony.  
Natasha paused at the sight in the lounge, her normally blank face showing some exasperation. "Tony, what did you do?"  
He managed to look convincingly affronted, a façade that Natasha was able to see right through. Working undercover at Stark Industries had certainly helped her decipher the subtle nuances of his personality, a definite perk. "I'm offended by your suggestions, Agent Romanoff. I have done nothing."  
"Lately," Bruce muttered beneath his breath as he moved to join Steve in the kitchen. Tony shot him a wounded look, missing the eye roll that Natasha gave the pair of them. The assassin pulled out a rather impressive looking knife and proceeded to slice through the packing tape as (Y/N) peeked out curiously from behind her.  
Ripping open the top, she reached a hand in and plucked out a Barbie doll with some confusion. "Where did all this come from?"  
"No clue," Tony replied flippantly, reaching for the cup of coffee that Steve was handing him, and walked into the kitchen. "Weird."  
Steve peered into the box and smiled. "Sweetheart, I think these are for you," he said, glancing down at (Y/N). She grinned shyly at him as he pulled a large dollhouse kit from the box. "Let's go put this together."  
Bruce turned to Tony as (Y/N) skipped after Steve, his expression knowing. "Are you sure you didn't order those toys for her?"  
Tony scoffed, taking another sip of his coffee. "I'm positive," he said firmly, but there was a tell-tale twitching of his jaw that Bruce knew meant he was lying.  
"Sure," the scientist murmured, glancing back as Clint stumbled into the kitchen and grasped fervently for the coffeepot. "I'm recommending you to play Santa, come Christmas."  
"Shut up," Tony mumbled, taking his leave and pointedly not looking at the dollhouse Steve was putting together in the unused breakfast nook.  
Natasha caught him on way down to the labs. "Did you think to pick up any clothes for her?"  
Tony paused, and that was all the answer that Natasha needed. Rolling her eyes, she shoved lightly at him, prodding him forward. "Of course not," she murmured.  
"How should I know that she needed clothes?" he muttered petulantly beneath his breath as she followed him inside.  
"You wouldn't, because you never do your laundry. Clean clothes magically appear in your room," she retorted, though her words lacked any heat.  
"It's not on my chore list," he pointed out sardonically. Tony eyed her as he sat behind his desk. "So you noticed because you do her laundry, oh great and terrifying assassin?"  
"I'm going to remember you called me terrifying," she commented archly, sitting on the edge of his worktop, to his visible annoyance. "And, yes."  
He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes at her dubiously. "Really?"  
She glanced at him and huffed, pretending not to see his smug look. "Fine. She has, maybe, two pair of clean underwear left and that's when I realized that the only clothes she has are the one in that little suitcase."  
Tony sobered at the news. "JARVIS."  
"I am already compiling a list of websites for clothing stores for Agent Romanoff to peruse at her leisure, sir."  
"Fabulous," Tony replied and made shooing motions at Natasha. "Off my desk. I have work to do."  
She glared at him, somewhat amused that he didn't flinch in response. "I want you to know that it's taking a considerable amount of my willpower not to break your fingers right now."  
"Duly noted." Giving her a more subtle dismissal, he turned his attention to the blueprints for a new line of offensive arrows for Clint. Natasha stood for a moment, watching Tony become irretrievably lost in his work, and left him alone in his lab.  
Rejoining the others upstairs, she nodded as she passed Bruce carrying a tray of breakfast down to the labs. Clint had disappeared, again, and she frowned at the realization that she hadn't really seen very much of him in the two weeks they'd had (Y/N).  
"What are your plans for the day, Nat?" Steve's question broke her internal thought process and she glanced over at him. He wiped his hands on a towel and refilled (Y/N)'s glass of milk, still waiting for an answer. "Nat?"  
"I think that we should spar." The words were clearly as much of a surprise to him as they were to her, judging by the look on his face, but Natasha realized that a good sparring session was something she sorely needed.  
Steve seemed to understand, because he nodded in response. "It has been a couple of weeks, and I've been a little restless," he admitted, placing the breakfast dishes in the sink. (Y/N) drained the last of the milk from her glass and held it out to him. He took it with a smile. "What do you say, sweetheart? We're going to practice. Want to come?"  
She nodded, picking up her ever present bear. Natasha held a hand out to her, squeezing lightly when the girl grasped it. The training room wasn't finished, despite Tony's efforts, so they walked out past the backyard to the clearing that contained the shooting range. Steve helped (Y/N) onto one of the range tables where she could play and turned to Natasha.  
The redhead signaled her readiness with a nod, and attacked. While on some levels she was grateful that Steve pulled his punches when they sparred, she did not offer him the same courtesy. Natasha let her mind calm to the point where all she knew was the fight, and the stresses and grief of the last few weeks faded away.  
Steve glanced over, letting his defenses down, and Natasha swept his legs from beneath him. She was crouching over his chest with one fist raised when (Y/N) threw herself at the pair. The little girl sobbed incoherently into Natasha's torso, clearly distressed. The assassin settled her weight on her haunches, gathering (Y/N) in her arms as Steve slid from beneath her.  
She shot him a bewildered look, growing even more confused when he shook his head at her. "Sweetheart," he murmured, picking gently at (Y/N)'s arms to gain her attention. "Sweetheart, we're practicing for a fight. Uncle Phil told you we were superheroes, right?"  
(Y/N) lifted her head from Natasha's midsection and nodded, gasping a little with the force of her tears.  
"Well, we have to practice, so that we can beat the bad guys and we don't get hurt. Aunt Tasha and I were just practicing. There's nothing to be upset about."  
Natasha ran a calming hand down (Y/N)'s back, smiling slightly when the little girl searched her face to see if Steve was telling the truth. (Y/N) wiped a hand across her eyes, sniffling, and threw her arms around Steve's neck.  
"Okay sweetheart," he soothed, shooting Natasha an apologetic glance. "We won't fight. Is that better?"  
Her sobs renewed with earnest, and (Y/N) nodded into his shoulder. Natasha sighed a little, picking herself up off the ground and grabbed (Y/N)'s bear from the table as Steve stood.  
Tony was in the kitchen getting another cup of coffee when they reentered the house and he frowned angrily at the sight of (Y/N)'s distress. "What did you do to her?" he demanded.  
"She doesn't like it when we spar," Steve responded, looking just as upset about the situation as Tony.  
Tony snorted, setting his coffee down. "Of course not. Kids never like it when Mommy and Daddy fight, especially not literally."  
Natasha was about to dress him down for calling her "Mommy," but the tone of his voice set alarm bells blaring in her mind. She knew better than to say anything and a quick glance at Steve told her that he was of the same mind. Shifting her attention back to Tony, her eyes lit up as she thought of a solution to the problem at hand.  
The billionaire took one step back at the look on her face. "I remember that look," he said, pointing at her. "That is never a good look on you."  
She grinned sharply. "I need to spar with someone that can take the hits and (Y/N) needs to not watch. So either you put your suit on and come out to the range with me, or you babysit."  
"Hand her over," he replied swiftly, holding his arms out. Steve suppressed a smile at Tony as he grasped (Y/N) beneath her arms and she leaned towards him, out of Steve's hold. Tony looked slightly panicked as his arms closed around her, but she shifted in his grip and clung desperately to him. He wasn't able to conceal the myriad of emotions that flitted across his face, and Steve gave him a small, understanding smile.  
The moment was broken and Tony glared at the soldier. "Breathe a word of this to anyone and I program JARVIS to play your theme song everywhere you go," he hissed, but his threat was somewhat lessened as he carried the little girl down the labs.  
"She caved fast," Bruce commented as Natasha took (Y/N) up the stairs that night. "Poor kid must be really tired."  
"After the harrowing day she had, I'm not surprised," Steve said, gliding a knife through the brownie pan.  
"You mean watching you and Natasha beat the crap out of each other?" Tony dropped himself into a seat, wiping ineffectively at a grease stain on his shirt.  
"Actually, I meant spending most of the day in your lab, with you," Steve teased, handing Tony a glass of milk to accompany the plate of brownies he set on the table. Tony made a face at his jest.  
"I will have you know that she loves my lab. We had an awesome day."  
Bruce chuckled. "And how many plates did you break with your repulsors for her?"  
"Huh," Steve muttered thoughtfully, placing some dishes in the sink. "I was wondering where those went."  
"I can buy more," the billionaire replied easily. "We have more pressing issues than broken plates, anyway. Is anyone else concerned that she won't speak?" Tony offered up, polishing off his brownie.  
Steve glanced at him curiously, wiping any remaining powdered sugar from his hands. "What do you mean she won't talk?"  
"Seriously? The girl hasn't made more than a squeak in the three weeks it's been since she got here," Tony replied with characteristic snark, snagging another brownie from the plate.  
"That's not true," Steve countered, taken aback when the table stared at him incredulously. "Look, I can't speak for anyone else, but (Y/N)'s a little chatterbox around me. I can hardly get word in edgewise if she doesn't want me to."  
"I think I'm offended," Tony mused, causing Bruce to snicker into his milk. "She certainly isn't a chatterbox around me."  
"How could she? You talk enough for the both of you." Tony glared at Steve's flippant comment, but his scathing retort was interrupted by Natasha's entrance to the kitchen.  
"Steve, go," Natasha commanded, pointing a finger at the stairs. The soldier blinked at her, confused. She sighed tiredly, rubbing an exasperated hand across her brow. "(Y/N) handed me Goodnight Moon."  
Tony dropped his head into his hand, covering his smile. Steve furrowed his brow at Natasha and prompted, "Which is?"  
"It's a children's book," Bruce answered, his voice tinged with amusement. "I think (Y/N) wants a bedtime story."  
The lines on Steve's face smoothed out and he glanced at Natasha with glittering eyes. She glared in return. "I don't do stories," she said firmly. "I tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and leave the door cracked. I don't read." She gestured at the stairs again. "She's up there waiting for you."  
Steve grinned as he passed Natasha, taking the stairs two at a time. (Y/N) was kneeling on her bed, little fingers clutching the desired book to her chest. Her face lit up when Steve entered the room, and he couldn't help but return her smile.  
"Well sweetheart," he murmured as she scooted closer to the wall, making room for him to lean against the headboard next to her. "Let's read a story, hm?"  
She curled herself around his arm, nestling her head against his bicep as he began to read aloud in a low voice. She nearly drifted off halfway through the book, her soft eyelashes falling to rest on her cheeks, but she gripped his arm when Steve made the move to extricate himself.  
"Still want someone to stay with you, sweetheart?" he whispered fondly. When she nodded, sighing, he acquiesced.  
Smiling gently, he unhooked her fingers from his sleeve and tucked the covers up to her chin, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. He smoothed the hair from her face and flicked the nightlight on. Swiftly grabbing a pillow and blanket from his room, Steve made himself a place on the floor by her bed. Her eyes glittered in the dim light of the cracked door and the nightlight, and she smiled sleepily when he returned.  
"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he muttered, settling on his back.  
The household fell into a comfortable routine in the following days. Tony and Bruce spent their mornings in the lab, entertaining (Y/N) while Steve trained with Natasha or Clint. After lunch, Steve would take her to play so that the scientists could get some uninterrupted work finished, although the two hardly noticed she was there half of the time. Clint had become a ghost, slipping out of the room every time (Y/N) entered and keeping a steady presence on the roof of the mansion instead, to Natasha's increasing irritation.  
As for (Y/N), she was settling into the ragtag group of superheroes with a sense of aplomb, adapting readily to whatever situation she found herself in. She was even growing relaxed enough to begin sleeping with only the soothing presence of her teddy bear.  
Unless, of course, she had a nightmare.  
With his daytime hours filled with finding ways to make a small five year old girl laugh, Tony had taken to working well into the night on his numerous projects. It was nearing three in the morning when he set aside the communicator prototype for SHIELD and picked up the chestpiece to the Iron Man suit. He hummed absently along to AC/DC, soldering another piece into place when his music suddenly cut out.  
"JARVIS," he began, irritated. The system did not reply, but the door to the lab unlocked and swung open. Swiveling in his chair, Tony raised an eyebrow at the sight at the door. (Y/N) tottered forward, her teddy bear trailing behind her. Her flowered nightgown was rumpled and it looked like she'd been crying, her eyes rimmed in red. The corners of his mouth softened. "Did you have a bad dream?"  
(Y/N) nodded shakily, one small fist scrubbing at her wet lashes. Tony peered at her over his safety glasses.  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
She shook her head vehemently, letting out a tiny sigh. Tony nodded, just a little relieved.  
"All right then. Ready to go back to sleep?" Another shake. He eyed the girl, frowning. "Why not? You don't like your room?"  
(Y/N)'s silence had never been more frustrating to Tony as she tried to convey what she was thinking, using only facial expressions and shy body language.  
"I have no idea what you're trying to tell me." Tony put the soldering iron down and placed his hands on his knees, facing her. (Y/N) pouted and stepped forward. She wiggled one hand underneath his to rest lightly on his knee. Sitting back in response, he was surprised when she clambered into his lap without hesitation, snuggling in.  
"Okay," he frowned down at her. "How about you sit on my lap while I work?"  
This arrangement seemed to be perfectly acceptable to (Y/N), who simply settled in closer to his body heat. Tony stared blankly down at the child in his lap as she quickly went boneless against him, asleep. Tony attempted to return to soldering, but the little girl in his lap didn't allow for the freedom of movement that was necessary. With his hands already full, there was no way he could finish his project.  
Glancing helplessly around his lab, Tony's gaze finally lit on the old sofa in the back. Carefully supporting (Y/N), he stood and walked to the couch. He made to set her gently down, but her little hands curled into his shirt and she gave off a whimper. Straightening, Tony frowned.  
"Seriously, kid?"  
As if in response, (Y/N) shifted, pressing her nose into his chest. Tony huffed, his heart melting against his will.  
"Okay, kiddo," he murmured, adjusting his grip to secure her. He rubbed a soothing hand down her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Okay."  
Bruce jerked awake, his nightmare lingering despite the calming sound of the birds chirping cheerfully outside. After a few minutes of desperately trying to calm himself, he wiped the remaining traces of sleep from his eyes and gave up, heading towards the labs. He was nearly to the glass door when the sound of Mozart, rather than Tony's usual jams, reached his ears. Cocking his head curiously, Bruce carefully nudged the door to the lab open and slipped inside.  
Tony was quietly directing Dummy and Butterfingers, one hand playing with an enlarged rendering of his thrusters, and the other supporting a sleeping (Y/N). Bruce smiled fondly at the sight, backing out of the lab as Tony hitched the girl higher into his lap and brushed the smallest of kisses into her hair.  
"JARVIS," Bruce whispered, letting the door shut. "Are you recording this?"  
"Of course, sir," the AI responded just as low. Bruce grinned and headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea. The assassins were sitting silently at the table, watching Steve expertly flip pancakes. Natasha eyed him curiously.  
"You look like the cat that's got the cream," she commented, flicking through the newspaper. "Care to share?"  
"I don't think so," he murmured as he pulled his mug from the cabinet. "Not just yet."  
They had finished most of the pancakes by the time (Y/N) led Tony upstairs by the hand, drawn by the scent of maple syrup and buttermilk. Natasha glanced over at them, savoring the last of her coffee, as Clint placed his dishes in the sink and slipped out the patio door.  
"You're up either early or late," she commented dryly to Tony, sparing a scowl for Clint's rapidly retreating back.  
"Whichever you prefer, Agent Romanoff," he replied lightly, picking (Y/N) up and setting her at an empty place at the table. "Spangles, breakfast."  
Steve rolled his eyes, but set down two short stacks, nonetheless. "One of these days, I'm not going to answer to that nickname."  
"That's fine," Tony said easily, pouring some syrup over (Y/N)'s stack and dousing his own. "I have plenty more to dust off and use."  
"Of course you do," Steve muttered beneath his breath as Bruce stood and began to fill the dishwasher. Tony grinned at (Y/N) around a mouthful of pancake, making her giggle quietly.  
Natasha let the latecomers finish their breakfast, and Steve take (Y/N) outside to play, before she rounded on Tony. "(Y/N) was not in her bed this morning."  
Tony drained the last of his coffee and looked up at her blankly. "Okay."  
Natasha bristled, preparing to lash out at Tony, when Bruce calmly interrupted the growing argument. "JARVIS, please play back the video from earlier this morning."  
"Of course, Doctor Banner."  
The television in the upstairs lounge flickered to life and the recording from the lab played on screen. Natasha clamped down on the smile that threatened to sprout on her face as she watched the video of Tony comforting (Y/N). Tony scowled blackly at the images. "JARVIS, I am decommissioning you and turning your code into scrap for inner city schools to play with."  
"Noted, sir. I shall say my goodbyes and prepare myself."  
Bruce couldn't contain his laughter, the sound of his mirth trailing Tony back down to the labs.  
Steve knocked impatiently at the door to the labs a few days later, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He had a death grip on a sheaf of papers in his hand and was clearly keen to show them to Tony. Tony, for his part, pointedly ignored the soldier behind the glass, directing Dummy to lower the hot rod's engine back into the body of the car.  
Steve huffed in irritation and stared down at the keypad, oblivious to the way that Tony's lips twitched with amusement. Seemingly making a decision, the soldier keyed in his code and entered the lab.  
"I'm impressed, Spangles," Tony commented, unhooking the chains from the engine. "You actually walked in here without my express permission. The twenty-first century is rubbing off on you."  
"Can I have a tree?" Tony paused, flicking his eyes up at Steve, who shifted, flustered, under the scrutiny. "Not to keep. Not really, I mean, but I remember a couple of guys from the war who talked about treehouses and I thought that (Y/N) should have one, but I need a tree to build it in, so, can I have a tree?"  
"First of all, you're rambling," Tony informed him, moving around the car. "And second of all, what kind of treehouse are we talking?"  
Steve grinned wryly at him. "Nothing as elaborate as you're planning now that you've heard my idea."  
Tony smirked back. "Of course not. I'm assuming those are your plans?" he asked, indicating the pages still clenched between Steve's fingers.  
Steve glanced down at them, somewhat surprised, as if he'd forgotten he had them. Quickly, he spread them across one of the workbenches scattered throughout the lab. "Yeah." He colored slightly, downplaying the artfully sketched images. "They're nothing much, just basic plans, you know?"  
Tony studied them with a critical eye. "Well," he mused. "I'm no architect, but these don't look half bad, Rogers. I think we can make this work."  
"No." Natasha had entered the lab silently, and the two men looked up at her with wide eyes. She frowned, pointing a stern finger at the pair. "Whatever you're doing, stop. We need to talk."  
"The worst four words a man can hear," Tony muttered, rolling his eyes and straightening. "What's got your panties twisted?"  
"This is clearly a new present for (Y/N)," she said, indicating the treehouse plans splayed over the work top. "And that has to stop, right now." Natasha leveled them with a lethal glare. "(Y/N) is a small child and she needs discipline."  
"She's doing just fine," Steve argued earnestly, his brow furrowed with consternation. "She really is a sweetheart."  
"She may not always be," Natasha replied, her voice reasonable. "And the two of you are spoiling her beyond all reason. You need to stop before she comes to expect it and becomes a terror."  
Steve shook his head with vehemence, his hair flying into his face. "That won't happen to her."  
"You don't know that." Natasha seemed exasperated with his stubbornness, leaning against the glass of the lab door. "She turns those puppy dog eyes on her and you cave like a street over a sinkhole."  
Steve fidgeted in the face of her criticism, but didn't back down. "That's not reason to start denying her everything. It's not like she asks for much, anyway."  
"But it's not about what she asks for, is it?" Natasha sighed. "You can't keep spoiling her."  
"Why not?" Steve and Natasha glanced over at Tony's carefully calm tone. The billionaire was standing straight, arms crossed defensively over his chest. "I have plenty of money. There's no reason why she shouldn't want for anything."  
"It's not a matter of money, Stark. You can't buy her love," Natasha said, a slight sneering quality to her voice. "That might have worked for some of your skanky ex-conquests, but she's a child. She needs to be told no."  
"Then you do that, Red," Tony replied coldly, and Steve quickly realized that Natasha had hit some sort of nerve with him. "But, I, for one, refuse to be the reason that baby girl is sad for one more day of her life."  
Turning on his heel, Tony stalked out of the lab and through the garage proper, out into the night. Steve frowned at Natasha, who was looking uncharacteristically regretful.  
"If it becomes a problem," he informed her sternly. "We deal with it. Until then, trust our judgment. Can you do that?"  
She nodded in response, grateful for the comforting hand he laid on her shoulder as he passed.


	3. Chapter 3

The sounds of Brahms filled Natasha's room and she closed her eyes, losing herself in the bell-like melodies. Dancing had long been an escape of hers, and as her tense muscles began to relax, she felt her body move of its own accord.  
The last month in particular had been fraught with tension, to say the least, dealing with Coulson's loss and the arrival of (Y/N). Sparring with Steve and Clint could only relieve so much stress, and so, she danced.  
The songs faded into each other until Natasha was completely unaware of the time that had passed. All she knew was rhythm and dance and the little girl in her doorway.  
She paused, mid-pirouette, and glanced at the door. (Y/N) stood, clutching the frame, her little face lit with wonder as she watched Natasha move. The spy let her arms fall gracefully, cocking her head questioningly at the child.  
"Did you like my dance?"  
The little girl nodded slowly, her face still enthralled and her eyes wide. Natasha smiled gently, an expression that she was still getting used to.  
"Would you like to learn?"  
(Y/N) stilled, almost too hopeful to bear. Natasha finally took pity on her and stepped forward, grabbing her small hands and pulling her into the room.  
"Alright serdce," she murmured, trying not to think too hard about the fact that she had unconsciously given (Y/N) a Russian nickname that translated to 'heart'. Kneeling, she placed (Y/N)'s feet together, heel to heel with the toes pointed outwards. "This is first position."  
She caught on quickly, and Natasha spent the morning teaching the basics of ballet. The little girl was desperately eager to learn, and, consequently, did exactly what Natasha told her to. When Steve came upstairs looking for the little girl, (Y/N) turned liquid eyes to Natasha, who was hard pressed to deny her a continuation of their lesson the next day.  
Steve simply smirked lightly at the assassin. "It's not so easy to say no when you're the one she's asking, is it?"  
Natasha could only glare at him. "Shut up, Rogers."

"Just a bit more salt, right sweetheart?"  
(Y/N) dutifully dipped her spoon into the gravy and licked at the sauce coating the end. Taking her time in her tasting, she finally nodded in agreement with Steve's assessment.  
He bit back a smile at the way her little nose wrinkled as she thought. Turning away, he added another pinch of salt and stirred it in. The scent of roasted beef and warm gravy was drawing the inhabitants to the kitchen like very surly flies. Bruce was looking run down as he plopped into a chair at the table. Natasha seemed to be guarding Clint, who was looking like he'd rather be facing a guillotine than dinner with the team.  
"Where's Tony?" Steve furrowed his brow, directing his question at Bruce.  
The scientist rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "After the third time he dropped a wrench on his toe, I sent him upstairs for a nap. His crankiness was becoming too much to handle."  
Steve murmured an agreement, turning to (Y/N). "Run and get him, sweetheart?"  
Wordlessly, she skirted around the edge of the table, shying away from Clint as he shied away from her, and Steve realized that Clint had been actively avoiding (Y/N). He speared the archer with a look. Clint was too busy picking at a scab on his arm to notice, but Natasha leaned over to meet his eyes, silently promising to explain later.  
Tony scrubbed the last bit of sleep from his eyes, absently noting that he'd napped for a full three hours. Frowning as he tried to discern what had awakened him, he rolled out of bed and peered into the hallway.  
(Y/N) met his questing gaze with wide, frightened eyes that reminded him of a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. Tony eyed the empty table beside her, the broken pieces of the vase at her feet, and let his tired brain construct the most likely scenario. They stared at each other for a few minutes before her little face scrunched up and tears began to stream down her cheeks.  
Tony, for all of his bravado on the battlefield or in the boardroom, was a complete sap when faced with the tears of a female. Panicking, he stepped swiftly forward. "It's okay, kid, it's okay," he tried to sooth, his hands hovering over her shoulders as she cried softly. "We'll just buy a new one."  
(Y/N) sniffed loudly and looked at him with hopeful eyes. Tony softened, picking her up and cuddling her close. "Uncle Tony has piles of money," he murmured into her temple. "You can break as many ugly vases as you want to, okay?"  
She nodded into his shoulder, and Tony had the sneaking suspicion that she was wiping her face on his sleeve. "Now," he pulled her away and noticed her conspicuously clean nose with grim resignation. "Who left you alone in the first place?"  
She shot him a tiny glare and gave an exaggerated sniff. When Tony simply blinked at her with confusion, she sniffed again with more emphasis. At her expectant look, Tony sniffed himself and realized what she was trying to tell him.  
"Am I missing dinner?"  
She nodded vehemently in response and took a few steps down the hallway, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that he was following. Rising from his crouch, Tony trailed the little girl down to the kitchen, where Steve was setting out platters of vegetables and mashed potatoes.  
She took her seat at the end of the table, between Natasha and Steve and across from Tony. Dinner was as normal of an affair as they had become accustomed to in the last few weeks. Steve served her small portions of everything on the table and Natasha made sure to cut her meat into bite-sized pieces while Tony amused her with funny faces as he told stories about the day.  
Steve flicked third furtive glance Clint's way in as many minutes, and Natasha bit back an aggrieved sigh. Clint's determined silence was growing obvious to someone other than herself, and Steve was one of the few who would actively seek to confront him about his behavior. Natasha only hoped the soldier could restrain himself until after dinner.  
When the plates were cleaned, Clint slipped silently from the room, to Steve's quiet distress. Natasha subtly herded (Y/N) and Tony towards the lounge, counting on Bruce to follow without question. The soldier began to fill the sink with water and, seeing an opportunity, Natasha cleared the table. She wordlessly handed Steve a stack of plates and he eyed her expectantly.  
"I'm not quite sure what's going on," she murmured once Tony had turned the television on and the sounds of Disney floated into the kitchen. "He's been acting this way since he brought her back."  
"I'd noticed," the soldier replied dryly, rinsing a dish beneath the water.  
Something about his tone gave her pause and she looked searchingly at him. "Anything on your mind?"  
"A little," he admitted, expelling a soft sigh. They worked in silence for a few moments while he gathered his thoughts. "It's not that I don't love her. But Clint is her guardian."  
"And you want him to take some of the responsibility," Natasha finished for him, feeling oddly irritated as she handed him a dish.  
The feeling was evidently mutual. "At the risk of sounding like Tony," he said lightly, concentrating on scrubbing a plate clean. "Do you think you could let me finish before you jump to ridiculous conclusions?"  
"I suppose," she muttered, thrusting another plate in his direction.  
Ignoring her sullenness, he continued. "She is well aware that Clint is her legal guardian. She is also well aware that Clint spent a decent chunk of their trip here cursing Agent Coulson's name before he abandoned her to us. He is ignoring her and she's flat out furious with him, and that won't do either of them any good in the long run. Don't you agree?"  
Natasha stared at him with mild shock. He smirked lightly at her.  
"The times may have changed, but people haven't, not all that much. And let's not forget that she talks to me."  
Natasha nodded, suitably chastened. "I'll talk to Clint," she promised. "But I don't know how much good it will do."  
"I'm not asking for miracles," he assured her, turning off the tap and drying his hands on a length of toweling. "But I wouldn't say no if there was one."  
She found him at the range, as she knew she would. He was set up as far from the mansion as he could be, aiming at a target that he'd hung from a branch. Arrows rapidly slammed into the bull’s-eye, each hitting a hairsbreadth from the previous, until the center of the target resembled a pincushion.  
His quiver empty, he remained poised in the position of release as the bowstring twanged in the air. "What?"  
"Poor excuse for a greeting," she mocked gently, hitching herself up on the range table at his station. He glared balefully at her. "What's going on?"  
One eyebrow arched in condescension. "I'm shooting," he replied slowly, as if speaking to a particularly slow child.  
"Clint." She was not in the mood for his attempts at dodging, and he was clearly not in the mood to actually answer her. His face shuttered and he turned away from her, stalking down the lane to the target. "You can't escape me forever."  
"Wouldn't make that bet if I were you," he muttered beneath his breath, causing her to stand, frowning.  
"I'm not the only one noticing that you've been impersonating a ghost for the last six or so weeks," she shouted down the lane, crossing her arms and jutting one hip out to the side. "Steve's picking up on it too."  
"Tell him to mind his own damned business," Clint snapped, effortlessly scaling the tree. He unhooked the target and dropped lightly back to the ground.  
She glowered outright at him. "He is."  
"I am not his business."  
"(Y/N) is," she retorted, cataloguing the slight flinch at the little girl's name. "And, for the future, as a member of The Avengers, you constitute everyone's business. That's part of being a team."  
Clint threw the target on the table and began angrily yanking arrows out, muttering obscenities and epithets as he worked. His grumblings gradually gained creativity and volume until he finally yelled "what was he thinking" into the forest.  
"And now we're to the heart of the problem," she murmured lightly as Clint bent double, resting his forearms on the table. "You're angry with Phil?"  
Clint winced at her soft question. "Wouldn't you be?" he countered. "I have no fucking clue how to take care of a kid. What if I break it?"  
"Her," Natasha corrected gently, nudging Clint over to make room so that she could mirror his position. "And you won't break her. She's a little girl, not a china doll."  
He snorted. "I didn't mean that kind of break," he admitted quietly. "And you knew that."  
"I did," she agreed. "But I don't think you have to worry. You won't be doing this alone, after all."  
Clint rocked back on his heels, pushing himself into a standing position. "Steve said the same thing, that first night."  
"Steve is very smart, when he wants to be," she commented. Fixing a piercing gaze on him as he finished cleaning the target, she continued casually. "He's noticed that you avoid her."  
He stiffened almost imperceptibly. "The Captain send you out here with orders?"  
"No." He relaxed somewhat. "He's hoping that you offer an olive branch, but he's not expecting any miracles."  
"That's good," Clint muttered, packing the arrows and his bow away. "Because I'm no saint."  
He'd finished putting his gear away and was nearly at the pathway back to the mansion when Natasha finally spoke. "Clint."  
The soft query in her voice gave him pause. He raised his gaze upwards and heaved a sigh, refusing to turn around and face the slight censure he knew he'd find in her expression.  
"Give me a few days," he murmured over his shoulder. "Let me do this on my own time."  
"Are you actually going to do it?" The question was sarcastic and doubtful and so perfectly warranted, under the circumstances, that Clint couldn't even be annoyed by it.  
"I'll try," he admitted, tamping down on the feeling of blind panic that reared in his chest. "For Phil."  
Tony was quickly associating the cessation of his music with (Y/N)'s arrival in the labs, so he was slightly more prepared this time than the last. Glancing up, he was startled to see her in front of his workbench with red rimmed eyes and an air of desperation about her.  
"What's up, munchkin?"  
Skirting around the desk, she carefully laid her teddy bear on the edge of the worktop, one stuffed leg hanging precariously by a few threads. Tony stared at it, blinking.  
"Your bear is broken."  
She nodded sadly, one fat tear rolling down her little cheek. Tony leaned forward, wiping at the tear track with the back of one finger.  
"You want a new one?" It was clearly the wrong thing to say, judging by the vehement shaking of her head. Tony frowned. "So, you want me to fix it?"  
She nodded and Tony let out a breath, wracking his brain for a solution. His eyes lit on the staple gun in the far corner of the lab and he hurried to retrieve it. (Y/N) made a distressed noise when he picked it up, recognizing the tool from last week's experiments. Scowling at him, she snatched her bear from his desk and held it protectively.  
She relaxed slightly when he set the staple gun back on the table, but made no move to relinquish her toy. "Here's an idea," Tony murmured, steering her towards the break room that connected the two labs. "Let's ask Uncle Bruce."  
Bruce was thankfully in his area of the lab and he looked up at their entrance, removing his glasses. Tony shot him a slightly pleading look as he nudged (Y/N) forward. The little girl had no issue with Bruce, but Bruce, being Bruce, was hesitant around her. Tony found it somewhat amusing that he was more shy than the five year old girl thrown into a houseful of superheroes, but he generally refrained from saying anything about it.  
Bruce smiled tentatively at (Y/N). "Is there something I can help you with?"  
(Y/N) bit her lip, hesitantly holding her mangled teddy bear out to him. Bruce leaned back, almost imperceptibly.  
"She won't let me staple the leg back on," Tony said, looking somewhat affronted when Bruce raised an eyebrow sardonically at him.  
"You don't say," the scientist muttered with a twinge of sarcasm.  
Tony soldiered on. "So you have to sew it back on."  
Months of living with Tony and Clint had sharpened Bruce's dry wit to a fine point. "Do I look like Martha Stewart to you?"  
Tony made a show of giving Bruce a once over, rolling his eyes when Bruce simply glared mildly at him. "You can stitch it back together. With sutures, like it's a cut or something."  
Bruce sighed, glancing back down at the beseeching eyes of (Y/N), and felt his resolve disintegrate. Holding his hands out, he gently accepted the injured bear from her. Her thankful grin was blinding and Bruce felt his own lips tug upwards involuntarily.  
Tony sat on the stool next to Bruce's workstation and she crawled into his lap to watch the proceedings. Bruce retrieved his small first aid kit and began to stitch the bear's leg back on. He was sure that it took an eternity from (Y/N)'s perspective, but he was finished within ten minutes, the limb stiffly, but securely, attached.  
Smiling as she hopped off of Tony's lap, Bruce handed the bear back to her. "Here you go," he murmured, freezing when she accepted the proffered toy and simultaneously pressed a swift kiss to his cheek.  
Tony smiled with amusement at the shell-shocked look on Bruce's face as she bounded back into the break room, clutching her bear.  
"Don't bother trying to fight it," he advised Bruce helpfully. "She'll get under your skin, one way or another."  
"Hey sweetheart," Steve greeted (Y/N) as she ambled into the kitchen, newly repaired bear tucked beneath her arm. "I thought you were down in the lab with Uncle Tony and Uncle Bruce."  
She pointed sadly at the clock, tugging on his pants leg. Glancing up, Steve realized it long past lunchtime. He frowned.  
"They forgot to feed you, didn't they?" She nodded, her face solemn. He picked her up with a grin, setting her on the counter.  
"Well, let's make you a sandwich and then we'll take some food down to them, okay?"  
He hummed a few old show tunes as he quickly put a peanut butter and jelly sandwich together, quartered it, and sliced off the crusts. Handing it to her, he accepted her offered kiss to the cheek and started making a stack of sandwiches for the two scientists.  
He'd just finished when the phone rang, the noise echoing shrilly in the kitchen. Clint's head poked up over the sofa, startling (Y/N) as she sat on the counter next to Steve. The soldier picked up the handset and passed a comforting hand over (Y/N)'s hair as Clint watched with well disguised interest.  
"Hello?" The conversation was quick and remarkably one-sided, a fact that had Steve furrowing his brows in complete annoyance. "Fine. I'll be there," he finally interjected, and hung up the phone.  
(Y/N) looked at him expectantly, as did Clint, and he sighed. "Director Fury has called me in," Steve explained, glaring at the telephone in his hand. "I'll be going to headquarters for an undetermined amount of time and they want me to leave tomorrow."  
(Y/N)'s lower lip quivered and Steve set the handset on the counter.  
"Don't cry, sweetheart," he murmured gently, pulling her into a hug. Clint dropped back below the back of the couch and tried to ignore the distinct feeling of being an interloper. "I'll be back before you know it. Let's take the sandwiches down to the lab, okay? Then we'll go talk to Aunt Natasha, see if that makes you feel better."  
Steve shifted (Y/N) to one arm and stood easily, not flinching when she threw her arms around his neck, and took the plate in his other hand. He could feel Clint watching him as he walked to the labs, but chose to ignore it. Natasha had asked him to back away, and back away he had. Clint was her partner, and she knew him best.  
Tony was smirking lightly at Bruce, who looked mildly surprised at something, when Steve walked in with (Y/N). Tony's face immediately twisted, which irked Steve when he stopped to think about it.  
"Director Fury has called me in for a meeting on the helicarrier," he announced with a slight glare in Tony's direction. (Y/N) clung tighter to him in response, which caused a few of the storm clouds to clear from Tony's face.  
"What does he want?" Bruce asked, stepping forward.  
Steve's lips curved downwards. "I have no idea."  
The following morning was alternately hilarious and heartbreaking as Steve prepared to leave for the first time since (Y/N)'s arrival and (Y/N) prepared to say goodbye to someone she loved for the first time since her uncle left.  
"Now remember," Steve said, addressing his instructions to Bruce. "She likes the crusts cut off her sandwiches. There's a week's worth of meals ready to be put in the oven, so you can't just let Tony order pizza every night. She needs some decent nutrition. Make sure you cut the crusts off her sandwiches, she likes that. And no sweets after eight."  
"Is she a Gremlin?" Tony muttered to Clint, who choked back a laugh. Bruce managed to elbow the both of them as he nodded at Steve, murmuring assurances and platitudes.  
"I read her stories at bedtime and she still needs someone to stay the night sometimes," Steve continued, and Tony stepped in.  
"We are fully grown, capable, rational adults," he told Steve witha sweeping gesture. "We take care of ourselves, don't we?"  
The soldier glared. "You see, of course, why I'm worried."  
Clint burst into laughter as Tony threw his hands in the air. "Jesus, you're worse than a mother bear," he complained. "And I thought Pepper was bossy."  
"Just, take care of her," Steve entreated, looking contradictorily young and old at the same time.  
Tony sobered. "Of course I will," he assured gently. "Dumbass."  
Steve merely rolled his eyes and finished securing his duffle to the back of his bike. (Y/N) barreled down the stairs and attached herself to his leg, Natasha following more sedately.  
"Sweetheart," he said, calmly detaching the death grip she had on his trousers and lifting her into his arms. "I am going to come back, I promise."  
The fearful look in her eyes gave the room pause as they collectively realized that Phil Coulson had probably said the same thing. Steve rallied himself and grasped her little chin in one hand, speaking with all the sincerity he could muster.  
"I promise that I am coming back as soon as I can. I won't be gone that long. No more than a week, okay?"  
Slowly, she nodded and the room let out a collective sigh. Steve pressed a tender kiss to her hair and set her back on the ground. Leaning down, he scooped up the bear she'd dropped, surprised when she pushed it back into his hands.  
"Sweetheart, I can't take your bear," he demurred, kneeling to speak with her face to face. "What would you do without him?"  
She glanced back at the rest of the team, her eyes flicking hesitantly over Clint and lingering on the others. Pushing lightly at the bear, she seemed insistent.  
"If you're sure," Steve murmured and tucked the bear into his bag. She seemed satisfied with the arrangements, kissing him soundly on the cheek, and stepped back until she hit Natasha's knees. The redhead put a reassuring hand on her shoulders as Steve swung his leg over the seat and settled himself.  
With a wave and a goodbye, he started the engine and rode out, (Y/N) watching him go until he turned down the drive and out of sight.  
In Steve's absence, (Y/N) attached herself firmly to Natasha's side, which bothered Tony to no end. By the end of the second day, he'd had enough of an (Y/N)-less workshop and spent the day crafting what he hoped was the perfect incentive for her.  
"I have a present for you, kiddo," he announced at breakfast of the third day. (Y/N) looked up hopefully, her little fingers fisted in Natasha's shirt. "But, you have to come downstairs to see it."  
She stared at him, eyes wide, and the question of alone? on her face was transparent. He smiled gently at her.  
"I promise that Aunt Tasha will be here when it's time for dinner."  
Slowly, (Y/N) released her hold on Natasha's clothing. The assassin remained in place, but Tony swore she relaxed minutely. Natasha smiled reassuringly at her, and (Y/N) seemed hesitantly satisfied. Reaching out, she took hold of Tony's proffered hand and let him lead her to the labs.  
"I thought about how you like to help me in the labs and I figured that the best present would be something that you could use down here, to do your own work, so I made you a work bench just like mine."  
JARVIS opened the door automatically and, gleaming in the lighting, was a miniaturized version of his workbench, down to the small coffee cup that was thoughtfully filled with juice.  
(Y/N) grinned widely and pressed a thankful kiss to his kneecap, darting around his desk to her bench. Bruce walked into the lab from his and stopped short, his lips twitching.  
"So," he murmured, coming to stand by Tony. "This is what's been keeping you up at night."  
"Among other things," Tony muttered back defensively, accepting the mug of coffee Bruce held out to him.  
"Don't worry," Bruce said, smiling. "I promise not to tell Natasha that you were trying to be nice to her."  
Tony rolled his eyes. "Please. You know this had nothing to do with Red."  
"Of course I do," Bruce agreed casually, smiling at (Y/N) and taking a seat next to her. "I just wanted to hear it from you."  
The workshop worked just as it had been intended, both in nudging (Y/N) towards Tony and freeing Natasha somewhat. (Y/N) had clearly gotten over her fears and was now acting perfectly normally so that, when bedtime approached, she voluntarily tugged on Tony's hand rather than Natasha's. The others hid smiles at Tony's obvious pleasure as he led her up the stairs.  
"Well, it looks like I'm going to tuck you in, pipsqueak," Tony said, holding on to both of her hands as she hopped lightly up the stairs. "I'm sure Steve is all old school, with the story and the nightlight and the Eskimo kisses."  
She turned on one foot, her little brow furrowed in question. "Eskimo kisses are like this," Tony explained, leaning in and rubbing his nose to hers. She giggled, and shook her head, breaking his grip on her hands. Placing her palms to his cheeks, she brought his face down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, mimicking Steve. Tony rolled his eyes. "Of course. How very forties of him."  
Perplexed at his jibe, (Y/N) shrugged and started back up the stairs to her room. Tony followed unhurriedly, musing. "Natasha is Natasha, so I'm assuming she's strictly business. Does Bruce tuck you in?"  
She shook her head, looking slightly peeved that the doctor had managed to escape his tucking in duties. Tony choked back a laugh at her expression. "We can always fix that, munchkin," he told her, stepping towards the bed and peeling back the covers. She took a running leap onto the mattress, crawling up to the pillow and settling on her side as Tony drew the covers up.  
He dropped his gaze, looking down his nose at her. "We good?"  
Shaking her head fervently, she pointed across the room to the bookshelf with pleading eyes.  
"Really?" Tony frowned down at her. "I can't read you a book, kiddo. That's Steve's thing, and I really don't want to outdo him." He leaned in close. "He'll feel bad, you see."  
She nodded sagely and Tony bit back a sigh of relief. Children's books were not particularly part of his repertoire. He sat for a moment, stroking his goatee. His eyes glazed with memories for a moment and he murmured, "My dad used to tell me stories." He glanced down at her, smiling slightly. "He, of course, told me stories about his hero, Captain America. But I'm going to tell you a story about mine."  
Smiling far more mischievously than he expected a five year old to be, she pointed one little finger, indicating him as the hero, and he barked a laugh.  
"Absolutely," he grinned down at her, settling himself more comfortably at the end of her bed. "We'll have a story."  
Tony spun grandiose tales of a noble Iron Warrior and his trusted sidekick Sir JARVIS as they fought against the sinister Hammer and his army of evil robot clones. (Y/N) gasped in all the right places and laughed with glee when the Iron Warrior saved the princess from the clutches of his foe. As the story drew to a close, Tony noted with some apprehension that (Y/N) showed no signs of tiredness.  
"Time for bed," he said inexorably, making to rise. (Y/N) shot out of bed, grasping for his arm. He raised a brow at her. "Did the story really scare you?"  
She shook her head no, and gestured to the floor. Frowning, Tony replayed Steve's departing instructions and recalled the soldier informing him that (Y/N) needed someone to stay with her sometimes. The light bulb clicked on in his head. "You want me to stay like Steve does?"  
(Y/N) nodded happily, and handed him the nightlight on her bedside table, pointing first to the electrical socket and then the floor. Tony glanced down at it with confusion. "Steve sleeps on the floor and leaves a nightlight on?" At her affirmation, he snorted. "Sorry, munchkin. Uncle Tony is older than Uncle Steve, and if that ain't a kick in the head that we're not going into right now. It's confusing for most of us."  
(Y/N) frowned at him, presumably both for his odd ramble and the fact that he wasn't doing what she wanted. He smiled reassuringly at her and crawled onto the bed, scooting between her and the wall. Flicking off her beside lamp, he pulled his black shirt over his head and let the light from the arc reactor bleed through his undershirt to illuminate the room. He chuckled at the delight on her face as she traced her tiny finger around the edge of his own personal nightlight.  
Cuddling her close, and making a mental vow to never admit to a soul that he cuddled, ever, he whispered stories in her ear until she drifted off to sleep.  
Steve had been gone for a very long week, dealing with Nick Fury on a daily basis, and he was more than happy to return home to the mansion. Sliding off his bike, he turned at the sound of little footsteps and grinned. Dropping to a knee, he opened his arms to catch the smiling little girl barreling towards him, trailed by Natasha and Bruce.  
"Hey there, sweetheart, did you miss me?" She nodded furiously into his shoulder, squeezing his broad shoulders happily. Steve laughed, picking her up and twirled her in a circle. "I missed you too. I even brought you a present."  
She reared back, looking hopefully at him. Natasha scowled over (Y/N)'s shoulder. "You're going to spoil her," she scolded.  
Digging in his knapsack with his free hand, Steve demurred, "No more than Tony spoils her." Glancing up at her, he smiled. "Bruce told me about the mini workbench."  
Natasha rolled her eyes. "We're not discussing that. It's just sad."  
"I thought it was hilarious," Bruce muttered beneath his breath as Steve pulled her bear and a small wrapped package from his bag, handing them to (Y/N).  
She tucked the bear under her arm, picking at the string on the package. Smiling indulgently, Steve set her down and helped her untie the knot to reveal a pair of glossy picture books.  
"I thought we could read them together, the next time I tuck you in," he explained, running a hand over the top of her head as she hugged him in gratitude.  
"That might be an issue," Natasha informed him lightly. "Tony has grown accustomed to tucking her in."  
Steve murmured, nodding his head. "I'd assumed as much," he admitted. (Y/N) glanced up at him, uncertain. He grinned reassuringly at her. "We can read them whenever you want, sweetheart."  
"Sounds like a plan to me," Tony commented, emerging from the lounge between the labs. "I'm not a book kind of guy."  
Steve wisely let the conversation die and turned to Natasha as (Y/N) ran to show Bruce her new books. "Any progress with Clint while I was away?"  
Tony subtly joined them, wiping his greasy hands on a towel. He snorted with derision at Steve's question. "You're talking about Barton's recent decision to mimic a ghost?" At Steve's subtle nod, Tony shrugged. "He's a more visible ghost, but he's still a ghost."  
"I'd expected as much," Steve replied and, at Natasha's glance of ire, explained. "Look how long it took him to get used to us. We just have to be patient."  
(Y/N) paraded happily to the child sized table, her brand new tea set held aloft. Steve glanced up from his book. "Aunt Maria send you that?" he asked, placing his bookmark between the pages. She nodded, placing it gently on the table. Steve watched her push her costume trunk back and pull the table out into the room a bit more. She set all four cups in their saucers, placing them perfectly in the middle of each side of the table, and Steve finally put his book down.  
"Sweetheart, you can't have a tea party without cookies, can you?" She shook her head solemnly, her eyes twinkling. He smiled at her and got off the couch, heading into the kitchen. "I'll fix that."  
(Y/N) abandoned her tea party in favor of trailing Steve, hoping for a taste of cookie dough. Whipping up a batch of chocolate chip cookies, he obliged her with a heaping spoonful. She gnawed happily on the sweet while he baked up a few dozen. Arranging them on one of the incredibly pink princess plates, he set them down on the table, taking the cleaned spoon from her. Steve frowned at the single plate and traded glances with (Y/N).  
"How about you put on one of your pretty dresses and I make you some more cookies? You're going to need more than one plate when the others come inside." She grinned in agreement and raced to her trunk.  
Steve was halfway through a batch of oatmeal cookies when Tony sauntered in from the lab. He stopped short, taking the regally dressed (Y/N), Steve in his apron at the counter, and the tea set on the table. He glared at Steve. "Why was I not invited?"  
(Y/N) looked up with wide eyes and frowned. Marching over to Tony, she handed him a cup and saucer. Tony gravely accepted the little cup and took a dainty drink of air, making (Y/N) giggle. Steve rolled his eyes and filled the tea pot with milk, handing it to (Y/N) to pour. Tony eyed her outfit as she flounced around the room, pleased as punch, and speared a look at the costume trunk. Glancing at Steve, he grinned and cracked the lid. Pulling out a long, ridiculously glittery, feather boa, he flung it around his neck with as much flair as he could and sat in one of the tiny chairs.  
Steve snickered, and Tony glared at him. "I'm going to ignore your transgression and not point out the frilly, sparkly apron you're wearing as you bake cookies for a tea party," he said quietly. "Remember this one day." Frowning, he peered at the bowl Steve was holding. "What are you making?"  
"Oatmeal raisin cookies."  
"You can't put raisins in there," Tony protested, scandalized, as (Y/N) plopped a tall, conical, princess hat on his head. "Raisins are nature's tragedy. Put chocolate chips in instead."  
Steve deferred to (Y/N). "What do you say, sweetheart?"  
She grinned, and he tossed the raisins back into the cabinet. Bruce wandered in to the kitchen an hour later, when Steve was starting in on cupcakes and Tony's attire had progressed to full on little-girl drag with a feather boa. He stopped short. "What are you doing?"  
(Y/N) turned her innocent smile on him, and he couldn't help but grin back. "We're having a tea party," Steve answered him, swiping at a streak of icing on her cheek.  
"Lovely," Bruce replied as sincerely as he could, the corners of his lips twitching. "I'm just going to grab a snack."  
Tony's hand slammed down on the table and the scientist stared at him. "You don't get cookies if you don't have tea."  
By the time Clint returned from the range and Natasha finally came downstairs, Bruce was clad in a lavender boa to match Tony's and sipping milk from a tiny pink cup alongside the billionaire and the little girl. Natasha simply shook her head, sneaking a cookie from the cooling rack on the counter.  
"That is a no fly zone, Red," Tony said loudly around a mouthful of baked good. "If you want a cookie, you come to the tea party."  
Clint hovered silently at the edge of the kitchen for a moment before deliberately dropping his quiver behind the couch and taking the final seat at the little table. The room went pin drop silent, alternately staring at Clint with mild surprise and at (Y/N), who was sizing Clint up.  
After a long moment, she dropped her gaze and picked up the final cup, filling it with milk. She made no move to hand it to Clint, instead allowing him to take it if he chose. Tony and Bruce exchanged dubiously interested glances as she rose, taking the empty teapot to the kitchen with her.  
Very suddenly, the light in the room dimmed. (Y/N) tottered curiously to the window as Steve emerged from the kitchen, setting the teapot on the counter. Tony began to ask what the forecast was when there was an unexpected crash of thunder outside.  
(Y/N) gave a small gasp of surprise and barreled desperately into Steve's legs. They watched with understanding as Thor landed heavily in the backyard, Mjölnir in hand. Prying her arms away, Steve gently picked her up and she flung her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shirt. Thor walked towards the door and paused when he caught sight of the shaking child. Steve muttered soothing words into her hair as she trembled in his arms.  
Bruce stepped forward, pulling his feather boa off and tossing it into the corner, as Thor finally pushed the French doors open and walked in. "Welcome back, Thor," he greeted the confused demi-god.  
"It is good to be back," Thor rumbled in reply, eyeing (Y/N) while she watched him with hesitation. Steve was murmuring something to her, and as the room quieted, they could hear what he was saying.  
"See, sweetheart? I'm not scared of him," he said calmly, rubbing a hand down her back. "Neither is Natasha, or Tony, or Bruce, or Clint. Thor is our friend." (Y/N) shifted at the demi-god's name, and Bruce seized on the action.  
"Did Uncle Phil tell you about Thor?" She loosened her grip on Steve's neck minutely and nodded, eyes still locked on Thor. Noting this, the demi-god held out his hands, palms outward in a gesture of peace.  
"I am sorry for my abrupt appearance. I did not mean to frighten you," Thor murmured, a kind smile on his face. He waved at her and she replied timidly in kind, still clinging to an increasingly amused Steve. Carefully, he walked towards Thor, shifting (Y/N) so that he could extend his right hand in greeting.  
"Welcome home, my brother in arms," Steve recited. Thor grinned broadly as he recognized the traditional Asgardian greeting.  
"I am glad to have come home," he replied, still looking curiously at the child.  
"Her name is (Y/N)," Natasha interjected into the forming silence. "She's Coulson's niece."  
Thor nodded in recognition, sorrow flitting momentarily across his face as he set Mjölnir by the door. Steve finally put (Y/N) down, smiling slightly when she fisted her hand in the material of his trouser leg.  
There was a momentary pause as the reassembled Avengers looked blankly at each other and tried to decide what to do next. (Y/N) quietly left Steve's side for a moment and picked up a plate of various cookies. With one hand curled into Steve's trouser leg and the other grasping the plate, she tentatively offered the cookies to Thor. Smiling broadly, he graciously accepted a treat and the strained silence was broken as everyone chuckled lightly.  
"Thank you, little one," he said, patting her gingerly on the head with a look of awkward uncertainty on his face. Bruce hid a smile behind his hand at Thor's careful handling of the little girl. The demi-god looked hopefully at Steve. "Perhaps there is also something of more sustenance in the kitchen?"  
"Of course," Steve laughed. "I can make something up right quick."  
He moved back into the kitchen, and (Y/N) drifted towards Tony as Thor followed in Steve's wake. A plate of sandwiches was deposited in front of the demi-god, to his obvious delight, and quickly devoured as quiet conversation was made amongst the team. Night began to fall and, when Thor finished, the group and the conversation moved outside to the patio. Clint silently started a fire in the outdoor pit and everyone settled into the deck chairs.  
"So," Tony began, automatically reaching out a supportive hand as (Y/N) clambered into the seat between himself and Thor. "Now that we've all avoided the subject for long enough, I'm going to ask the question. What happened to Loki?"  
Natasha hissed at the reference to the trickster, though whether it was for (Y/N)'s sake or Thor's was unclear. Thor's eyes clouded and he began to tell them the story of what had transpired upon his arrival at Asgard with Loki. Tony half listened to Thor and half watched with amusement as (Y/N)'s eyes fluttered and fell shut. Mid-sentence, Thor stopped.  
Tony leaned forward. "Well, come on, Point Break. What happened?"  
Thor speared him with a slight glare and began to unclasp the cape from his shoulders. With a twirl and flourish, he gently laid it across (Y/N). At the raised eyebrows from the team, he defended his actions. "The little one trembled with chills."  
Tony backed off immediately, to Bruce's obvious amusement. "Fair enough." He raised his eyebrows at Thor. "Continue?"  
Taking a deep breath, Thor stared absently into the fire. "Loki has been placed in the crystal prison."  
"What the hell is that?" Steve smacked the back of his hand against Tony's shoulder in silent rebuke and motioned for Thor to continue.  
"The crystal prison was reserved for the Destroyer," he told them, picking up a stick and poking at the logs in the fire. "However, when it was itself destroyed last year, a vacancy was available."  
"Isn't that prison on Asgard?" All eyes turned to Bruce, who was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. At the sudden attention, he shifted uncomfortably. "Agent Coulson told me a little bit about the New Mexico incident when we were on the helicarrier."  
"You are correct, Banner," Thor murmured. "My father felt that Loki would do better under supervision, where he could not make mischief. He is well guarded."  
"If you say so," Tony muttered, looking unconvinced. Thor reared back somewhat and, to end the rising conflict, Bruce stood.  
"I think it might be time to put (Y/N) to bed, don't you all?"  
Nodding, Steve stood as well and the tension dissolved. Stepping forward, he handed Thor his cape and lifted (Y/N) into his arms. She snuffled slightly and woke, squirming. Setting her down, she looked up at the team blearily. Natasha held out her hand for (Y/N) to take.  
"Time for bed, serdce. Let's go get ready."  
Holding loosely onto Natasha's fingers, the little girl tottered upstairs, leaving the team on the patio. Thor turned to the others with a frown. "She does not speak."  
Bruce sighed. "It's a long story."  
"What day is it?" Tony scratched his head idly, glancing at Steve after a pause. Thor raised an eyebrow at both the exchange and the lack of reaction from the others.  
"Tuesday," Steve replied. Tony nodded in understanding and walked inside. Natasha was in the little girl's bedroom with (Y/N), who was now wide awake, finishing up their nightly rituals as he passed.  
"Here you go, serdce," Natasha murmured, slipping the nightgown over (Y/N)'s head. "It's Uncle Tony's turn tonight, so you make sure he behaves."  
(Y/N) nodded solemnly, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and darted out into the hallway. Tony swung her into his arms, carrying her towards his room. Natasha stepped out of the doorway, raising a brow at their retreating backs.  
"That's not the way to her room, genius."  
Tony spun on one heel, shooting the redhead a playful grin. "It is on Tuesdays," he replied cheekily and poked (Y/N). "Isn't that right, pipsqueak?"  
She nodded fiercely, her smile threatening to split her face. Natasha merely rolled her eyes and waved them onwards. Descending the stairs, she walked into the lounge, where Bruce was offering explanations to Thor's questions as he changed out the movie selection.  
"Does anyone know why (Y/N) spends Tuesday nights in Tony's room?"  
Bruce chuckled. "I think it has something to do with the fact that he usually stays the night with her when it's his turn to tuck her in, and he's getting a little cramped on her bed. So, he just moved them to his bed, which is infinitely more comfortable." Bruce raised his hands in a placating gesture. "His words, not mine."  
Steve handed her a drink as Clint brought in the popcorn. "Go sneak a peak at them sometime," the soldier advised, dropping heavily into a corner of the couch. "She wasn't in her bed when I went to check on her once, so I went to his room to ask where she was. He pulls the covers over their heads and tells her stories, lighting their tent with his arc reactor." He grinned as Natasha started to laugh. "It's kind of cute."  
She snorted. "Say that to his face."  
"I did one better," Steve replied with a grin. "I sent a picture to Pepper."


	4. Chapter 4

****_October  
_ "(Y/N)," Steve called absently. The days were slowly cooling off, the heart of autumn finally resulting in chillier temperatures, but the sun was out and the sky a gorgeous shade of blue. Steve had brought his art supplies outside, hoping to relax, and (Y/N) had followed him. The little girl dropped her dolls where she was playing in the corner of the patio and tottered over expectantly. Steve glanced up at her, smiling, and turned back to his sketchbook. "Can you tell me the time? I left my watch in my room."  
There was a moment of complete silence and the lack of noise arrested Steve's attention. Looking up, he was surprised to find himself alone. He looked around to confirm this, rising to search for her, and suddenly, (Y/N) was holding his watch out to him. Slowly, he took it from her, his gaze vacillating between the watch and the fidgety little girl. As his brow furrowed, (Y/N) seemed to grow more distressed.  
Steve set his pencil down and sat to face her, trapping her between his knees. "Sweetheart, why did you run all the way upstairs to get my watch? There's a clock in the kitchen."  
(Y/N) was mute, staring determinedly at her sneakers. Steve frowned and pressed the issue.  
"Didn't they teach you that in school?" She finally met his gaze at that, wordlessly pleading with him to understand, and the light finally clicked on. "Oh God, school!"  
Steve stood restlessly, forcing (Y/N) to quickly retreat a few steps, and began to pace. "How did we forget about school?"  
(Y/N) remained silent, but shot him a sardonic look that looked ridiculously out of place and adorable on her five year old face.  
Whirling, he faced her again. "We can fix this," he promised her. "Just, give me a little bit."  
She shrugged, as if it made no never mind to her, and set his watch on top of the sketchbook. Steve sighed as she returned to her dolls and scooted his sketches to the side. Pulling up the Internet on his tablet, he began his research.

* * *

"You have been silent all damned night," Tony accused as Steve returned from putting (Y/N) to bed. Natasha kicked at Clint's legs, forcing him to shift and open a spot for her on the couch. "What is wrong with you?"  
Shooting the billionaire a pointed look as he dropped onto the open couch across from Thor, Steve sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. "School."  
Tony made an impatient gesture as the realization dawned on Bruce's face. He frowned at the soldier. "What about school?"  
"Shit," Bruce cursed uncharacteristically, earning a surprised expression from Natasha. "How did we forget about sending her to school?"  
Tony turned to stare at Bruce, brows furrowed. "School," he repeated numbly, glancing back at Steve. The soldier shifted, somewhat uncomfortable. Gathering his thoughts, he took a six pack of beer from the fridge and brought it to the group. Eyeing the group, Thor shook his head and quietly slipped out of the room.  
"Her file said that she'd been to kindergarten, and I checked into some of the local schools. They've started up already for this year, but there's always next fall," Steve finally said, passing bottles to the team and sounded a little dejected. "We can't keep her here forever."  
"The hell we can't," Tony replied, ignoring the beer in his hand. "I am not sending our little girl to some piss ant public school."  
Steve frowned. "Why not?" He sounded defensive. "Public school treated me just fine."  
"Sure it did," Tony scoffed, setting the bottle on the table with a decisive thud and heading to the bar.  
"Hey," Steve began, his voice tight with anger.  
Bruce stood, palms outward in a gesture of peace. "I went to a public school too, Tony," he interjected, trying desperately to soothe the two hottest tempers in the room. "And mine wasn't hampered by the problems of the Depression. It's not a bad idea."  
"Are you joking?" Tony glared at Bruce, splashing two fingers' worth of scotch into a tumbler. "Public school is the worst idea ever."  
"She's not you, Tony,'' Natasha pointed out, sipping delicately at her beer. "She doesn't have the Stark last name causing any kind of trouble for her with the other kids."  
Steve glanced at Tony, suddenly curious, but shifted his gaze at the other man's black scowl. The billionaire tossed back half his scotch. "I'm not sending her to a public school, end of discussion."  
"It's not really your choice, is it?" Everyone's attention swiveled to Clint, who was picking up his second bottle. He gave the room at large a wry, slight smile. "I'm her legal guardian. So I choose where to send her for school."  
His statement echoed in the abrupt silence of the room, and then Tony launched into a diatribe about how private schools were better than public schools, but they couldn't send her to a boarding school _ever_. Steve simply glowered at Tony, and Bruce gave a quiet defense of America's public school system.  
Natasha said nothing, but watched Clint's face grow more and more expressionless as he listened to the argument brewing. Setting her bottle on the table, she stood. "Shut up."  
The other three immediately silenced, to her immense satisfaction. Glancing down at Clint, she inclined her head. Sighing, he rolled his beer between the palms of his hands. "We home school her," he decided.  
Steve furrowed his brow. "I don't know what that means."  
"Not that hard to figure out, Spangles," Tony muttered, throwing the contents of his glass back as he walked around the end of the other couch. Natasha slapped his shoulder in reproach.  
"We'll find a curriculum online," Bruce answered. "And teach her lessons in the comfort of the mansion, rather than sending her out to learn from people that, admittedly, probably have IQs less than half of ours." He took a sip of his beer. "And because she's not in a public or private school, there's no record of her, right?"  
Clint stared at him with curiosity, and Bruce smirked, tipping his bottle back. Natasha nodded in understanding. "You would know a thing or two about staying off the grid," she murmured, appreciative. He lifted his beer, saluting.  
Steve finally sat down, pulling out a beer for himself. "I must admit, I like that plan better," he confessed with a sheepish grin. "I wasn't really happy about sending her off anywhere."  
His admission seemed to appease Tony's irritation, and the billionaire relaxed, dropping to the couch beside Steve. He said nothing, but knocked his refilled glass against Steve's bottle in a gesture of apology. They sat in the stretching silence for a few minutes, until Bruce leaned back.  
"So," he mused. "Who's going to teach what?" His question was met with blank stares. He rolled his eyes, setting his empty bottle on the table. "Come on guys," he entreated as Tony stood and returned to the bar. "We each have our strengths, so we should each teach her a subject. It's logical."  
"I claim math," Tony spoke up quickly, glancing around at the others. "I'm great at math."  
"I had no idea," Steve muttered dryly, causing Clint to snicker into his beer. Steve chewed his lip for a moment. "I can teach her history. I'm already teaching myself, anyway."  
"Tash is good with languages," Clint volunteered, nudging Natasha with his knee. She speared him with a mild look, but did not disagree.  
Bruce searched vainly for a pad of paper and a pencil. Eventually, he gave up and pulled a tablet off of the side table, quickly pecking out some notes. "Are you okay with that?"  
She glanced back at Clint, holding another of their infamous silent conversations. Finally, she nodded. "Put me down for English, too," she advised. "I have excellent grammar."  
Bruce grinned faintly. "Alright then. Science?"  
"You take that, big guy." Bruce raised a brow at Clint, who he would swear was blushing slightly. "You're probably better at it than any of the rest of us."  
Tony frowned. "I am excellent at science."  
"Physics and engineering are parts of science," Natasha reminded him, sarcasm tingeing her voice. "Not the whole. Bruce is more well-rounded than you are."  
The billionaire glared at his friend, and Bruce raised his hands in supplication. "I'm not part of this argument," he maintained. "What about art?"  
"Art is not a subject," Tony scoffed, his pride still visibly wounded.  
Steve gestured vaguely. "It's on the lesson plans for the schools I looked at."  
"That doesn't mean it's useful," Tony retorted, polishing off his third glass. Steve frowned.  
"If you keep being difficult, I'll dump your scotch down the drain," he threatened. "Be serious."  
Tony snorted, unfazed by the danger Steve posed to his alcohol. "I have a back up stash, which you'd never find," he replied cheekily. "And I am serious. Why does she need art?"  
"It's not about need, moron," Natasha scoffed. "It's about developing her creativity. And Steve's the artist, so he'll teach that too."  
"Whoa," Steve exclaimed, holding out a hand. "I draw for fun. I have no idea how to teach someone else to. It's just something that I can do."  
Clint smirked wickedly. "Since Tony needs to learn the importance of creativity, why not teach himself while he teaches the kid?"  
"Excellent plan, Clint," Bruce asserted calmly. "Tony takes art and math."  
Tony wrinkled his nose, but acquiesced. Turning to Clint, he frowned. "So, what are you teaching her, Man in Tights?"  
"Common sense," Clint replied decisively. Tony opened his mouth, but Clint cut his tirade off. "Not a single one of you has thought about teaching her how to tell time, or the days of the week, or anything else that we've known for so long that we don't even remember learning. So I'll be handling that."  
Tony's mouth snapped shut. Steve suppressed a smile. "That's a great plan, Clint," he said. Clint shifted, wary of the kind compliment. Natasha shook her head in silent answer to his air of mistrust. "Telling time is what sparked this whole thing to begin with."  
"Meaning?" Steve turned to Natasha and told her the story. She leaned back. "Then we should get started."  
"I'm already ordering workbooks," Bruce announced as Tony pointed to the tablet for emphasis. "We should have them within a couple of days."  
"Well, until then," Steve began with hesitation. "Can we let her be a kid?"  
Tony downed the last of his glass. "Absolutely."

* * *

Tony took Steve's request to heart and, when the packages containing the workbooks arrived, he confiscated them.  
"Tony." Natasha's tone was distinctly threatening, to no avail.  
"I need time to form some lesson plans," he told her with a slight degree of hauteur.  
Her eyes flashed. "Then pass out the rest of the books so that we can make lesson plans as well." As he faltered, she pressed her advantage. "Or you'll find yourself teaching basic first aid, too."  
Sniffing lightly, he cracked open a box and began rooting through it. "Just so you know," he said conversationally as he handed her a stack of English materials. "Bruce is much better at first aid than I am."  
"Bruce wasn't the one that I was going to be injuring," she hissed back, taking her supplies upstairs. Tony shook his head at her and brought the rest of the boxes to the kitchen, passing them out.  
(Y/N) squealed with delight as Thor played with her in the backyard, Steve keeping a watchful eye on the pair from the kitchen. Bruce handed Tony a glass of orange juice in exchange for the science textbook and smiled as Thor picked (Y/N) up with one massive hand, holding her tightly, and took off. Turning back around, he accepted a plate of breakfast from Steve while Tony began to peruse his math materials.  
Tony's expression grew blacker and blacker as he scanned the contents of the workbook. Clint entered the kitchen and watched with amusement as Tony flipped to the end, now thoroughly scowling at the brightly colored book.  
"Problem there, Iron Ass?"  
Tony flung the offending item on the counter. "What the hell is this?"  
Clint pulled the book closer, flicking through the first few pages. He arched an eyebrow. "It appears to be your standard first grade math homework," he replied, his voice dripping with mockery. "Addition, subtraction. The hard core stuff."  
Tony frowned. "I can't teach that."  
"Are you fucking kidding?" Clint snickered. "It's basic math!"  
Tony shot him a pointed glare, unaware of the amused glances Bruce and Steve were shooting each other. "For normal people, sure. My basic math doesn't even have numbers anymore."  
Clint choked on a laugh. "Fine," he allowed. "You want me to take math?"  
"Yes," Tony replied firmly, shooting the workbook one last, offended glare. He picked up his forgotten orange juice. "I'll teach her physics."  
Natasha walked back into the kitchen, plucking his juice from his hand and taking a sip. "You can't teach a five year old physics," she chided.  
Tony scoffed, reaching again for his glass. "Why not? I built my first circuit board at four," he said, oblivious to Bruce mouthing the words in sync with him.  
"You're you, Tony," Steve reminded him gently. "Why don't you try a few of the simpler points and see how that works."  
The billionaire huffed. "Fine."  
As Tony walked back down to the labs to sulk, Bruce turned to Clint, who was sipping at the cup of coffee that Natasha had set in front of him. He eyed the archer for a few moments with amusement. "Do you even have a plan?"  
"Right now?" Clint gestured blindly with his cup. "Nope."

* * *

Natasha had worked out a morning schedule for lessons, leaving the afternoons free for play. Steve, as the early riser, taught history while he fixed breakfast for the team. After breakfast, Natasha took over with English and French. Bruce had science lessons when Natasha was finished, and Tony worked his physics class into the various projects that he and (Y/N) worked on. Clint taught in much the same manner that he took naps – randomly.  
Steve was baking cookies and (Y/N) was sitting at the kitchen table with a coloring book when Clint dropped into the seat beside her. The little girl glanced askance at him, scooting slightly to the side. Clint frowned slightly, but ignored it.  
"Math," he said succinctly.  
Steve turned from the stove, smiling encouragingly at the pair. "Sounds like fun." He raised an eyebrow at Clint's empty hands. "No workbook?"  
"Some things shouldn't be taught from books," Clint replied. "Sometimes, you have to learn in the real world. And Tony was right. That book is crap."  
Steve chuckled lightly, dropping a dollop of dough onto the cookie sheet. "I promise not to tell him."  
"I appreciate that, Cap," Clint said. Turning to (Y/N), he raised his brows. "Math."  
Darting a glance at Steve, (Y/N) obligingly closed her coloring book and carefully placed her markers back in the box, setting them both to the side.  
"Alright kid," he muttered, facing her more squarely. "Let's start with the beginning."  
Clint patiently walked (Y/N) through the basics of math for the next half hour, quizzing her along the way. (Y/N) signed her answers to him, but Clint could tell that something was missing. The feeling niggled at the back of his brain and he grew more and more frustrated at time wore on.  
"So two plus two is four," Clint said, watching for some sense of understanding from his pupil. (Y/N) wrinkled her nose as she held up four little fingers for the third time, and he sighed, running his hand through his hair.  
"Something wrong?" Steve pulled out another batch of cookies from the oven.  
Clint replied tightly, "She knows that two and two is four, but she doesn't understand it. And I don't know how to teach her that."  
Steve eyed the distressed look on the little girl's face and frowned. "She likes the pictures in our books," he informed Clint, picking up the spatula from the counter. "She may be a visual learner. Try showing her what you mean."  
Clint glanced around the kitchen, looking for four of anything, when his gaze lit on the last of the first batch of cookies. Reaching for them, he was thwarted when Tony picked the plate up and stuffed a whole one in his mouth.  
"Seriously, Stark?"  
Tony furrowed his brow as (Y/N) started giggling. "What?" he mumbled around a mouthful of cookie. Swallowing, he grinned at (Y/N) and ignored Clint's glare. "I was hungry."  
"Here," Steve murmured, setting a new plate in front of Clint and effectively ended the brewing argument.  
"Okay." Clint took four cookies from the plate and gave two to (Y/N), keeping two for himself. He pointed at her pair. "You have two, one, two." Showing her the cookies in his hand, he continued. "I also have two. See?" She nodded, her eyes fixed on the treats. "And if I give you two," Clint said, growing a little excited as he saw her beginning to understand. "You have four!"  
She beamed at him, and he smiled back, oddly pleased at his success. Continuing the lesson, he pointed at the pile of cookies. "Now, hand me one."  
Tony snorted at the expression of abject confusion on her face. Steve leaned back against the counter, amused. Clint frowned. "Come on, kid. Fork one over."  
(Y/N) placed her hands around the cookies, pulling them closer to her end of the table. Clint rolled his eyes and leaned forward, intent on finishing the lesson. In a move faster than he expected from a five year old, (Y/N) leaned down and swiped her little tongue across each cookie. Steve and Tony burst into laughter, and she grinned up at Clint with vindication.  
Helpless, Clint simply shook his head. "Okay, kid," he murmured, ruffling her hair and taking a cookie off the plate for himself. "No more for today."

* * *

_"Mr. Stark, it is currently three twenty-nine in the morning."_  
Tony snuffled, rolling over and burying his face into the pillow. "Why, then, am I awake?"  
 _"I thought it prudent to inform you that Miss (Y/N) has had another nightmare and is currently crying in your lab."_  
Tony was on his feet and out the door in half a second, tearing down the stairs to the lab. (Y/N) was standing in the middle of the room, tears streaming silently down her face as her body shook with sobs. JARVIS automatically unlocked the door for Tony and he slid to his knees, pulling her into a tight hug. "Oh, kiddo, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"  
(Y/N) curled her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, wailing louder now that there was someone to hear her. Tony sat cross-legged on the floor, rubbing a soothing hand along her back as she quieted her whimpers. Snuffling, she wiped her nose on the tissue Tony held out for her and looked up at him with watery, red-rimmed eyes.  
"Do you want to go back to bed?"  
She shook her head violently and a couple of tears leaked out.  
"Okay, okay," Tony mollified, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks. "How about we go upstairs and watch some TV together?"  
She nodded, sniffling a bit more, and Tony stood. He picked her up, letting her cling desperately to him, and walked back up the stairs to the lounge area. Clint was sitting on the end of the long couch and turned from his ubiquitous cop show to watch curiously as Tony plopped down on the other end. "JARVIS," the billionaire murmured. "Cartoon Network."  
The television flipped immediately to the desired channel, which seemed to be in the middle of a Scooby-Doo marathon. Clint eyed Tony archly. "I was in the middle of that show," he said calmly.  
Tony glared at him over (Y/N)'s head. "My house," he retorted. Clint simply sighed, settling in to the corner of the couch sullenly.  
(Y/N) seemed to be slightly concerned with the ghost that was featured in the episode. At its appearance, she tensed, burrowing into Tony's side for comfort.  
"Was there a ghost in your dream?" A tiny nod. "Well, pay attention," he said softly. At the big reveal, Tony grinned gently at her. "See? The ghost isn't really a ghost. He's just a guy. And if the ghost in your dream is just a guy, well, you live in a house full of superheroes. No guy is going to get to you." She smiled back, eyelids drooping tiredly.  
She gradually shifted from Tony's lap to the cushion beside him, eventually drifting off to sleep with her head pillowed on his thigh. Clint leaned over, halfway through the fifth episode, and yanked a blanket from the pile on the ottoman, handing wordlessly it to Tony.  
The billionaire accepted it with a nod, draping it carefully over her sleeping form. Smoothing the edges, he laid one hand on her shoulder, a small reminder that she was not alone. Clint watched with interest. After another quarter of an hour, he finally remarked, "You're good with kids."  
"Not all kids," Tony murmured, running his hand along (Y/N)'s back as she snuffled and shifted to a more comfortable position. "Just this one."  
Clint accepted that, turning back towards the television. Tony was in a rare form, and that threw Clint slightly off balance, unsure of how to proceed.  
"I'm not."  
His words echoed slightly in the space between cartoon and commercial. Tony leaned to the side, propping one hand on the back of the couch as the screen flashed colors into the darkness of the room.  
"Not what? Good with kids?" The archer nodded once in acknowledgement and Tony half smiled. "No one is, to start with."  
"Cap was," Clint felt compelled to point out.  
Tony snorted loudly, rubbing soothingly at (Y/N)'s shoulder when she twitched at the noise. "Yeah, well, Spangles is good at most everything he puts his mind to. And he's a total sap, so the kid thing should be no surprise." He glanced sidelong at Clint. "It does take practice. And patience."  
"Impressive that you can manage it then," Clint deflected.  
"You have no idea." There was a lengthy pause. "I didn't have a great home life."  
Clint huffed a laugh. "Did any of us?"  
"Not my point," the billionaire admonished. "I'm not going to lecture you. You're a grown man, so you can do what you want. But Steve isn't the only one that's noticed your disappearing acts. So if they are because you're scared, suck it up. You think we're not terrified?"  
Clint stared at Tony, surprised both by the quiet vehemence in his tone and the subject matter. Tony shook his head.  
"Every last one of us is scared, on some deep level, that we're going to ruin this kid's life. That she'll turn out as fucked up as we are. But that's not keeping us away. Understand?"  
"Somewhat," Clint admitted. "Mostly, I'm shocked that you're the one telling me this. It's very uncharacteristic."  
Tony chuckled lightly. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in four days, and that's affecting my brain-mouth filter."  
Accepting the topic change with open arms, Clint raised a brow sardonically. "You have a filter?"  
"Sometimes," Tony grinned. "And honestly? It's less of a filter and more of a sieve."  
Clint snickered into his hand, and Tony sobered to some extent. "I'm not going to push if you don't want to be a part of her life. Frankly, I'm having a hard enough time sharing." Clint smirked. "But I can tell you this. There will come a day when you regret not being there."  
Silent, Clint nodded in acknowledgement. Tony watched the screen for a few minutes more, before complaining softly that his leg had fallen asleep. More gently than Clint had thought him capable, he eased himself from beneath (Y/N)'s head and picked her up, carrying her upstairs.  
Clint remained on the couch until well past dawn.  
Steve padded downstairs in workout clothes and stopped short at the sight of him. "Everything okay?"  
Jolted from his reverie, Clint turned to the soldier, somewhat startled. "Yeah," he assured. "I'm fine."  
Steve nodded hesitantly. "Your, uh, phone is going off," he informed Clint, pointing at the table. As Clint answered the call, Steve moved into the kitchen and started the coffee maker. After a few non committals, Clint ended the call.  
"I've been called in on a mission," he said bluntly. Steve nodded as the scent of coffee percolating began to permeate the air.  
"Just you?"  
"So far. Might have back up later."  
Steve leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. "Natasha?"  
"Probably." Clint shrugged. "If she wants to leave the kid."  
Steve smiled slightly. "She will, for you." Clint had no reply, knowing that it was true and hesitating to acknowledge it. Letting the subject drop, Steve lowered his gaze to his shoes. "When do you head out?"  
"Probably today," Clint admitted. "The sooner I head out, the sooner I get back, right?"  
"That is the theory."  
Clint eyed the unofficial leader of the Avengers. "Something on your mind, Cap?"  
"Nope," the soldier replied immediately. Clint smiled humorlessly.  
"I'm calling bullshit on that one." He continued to watch Steve. "Is this about the kid?"  
That earned him a frown. "Her name is (Y/N), and no, it isn't. You're part of my team, and you're leaving on a solo mission that I know nothing about. Call me a mother hen, but I worry."  
Relaxing slightly, Clint shrugged off Steve's concern. "Not my first rodeo, Cap," he reminded gently. "I wouldn't be too concerned."  
Steve was quiet, allowing Clint to draw the conclusion that, no matter what he said, Steve was going to worry regardless. Low voices and a thumping near the stairs alerted them to Natasha and (Y/N)'s arrival.  
"She's up early," Steve muttered absently, his eyes on the staircase.  
Silently, Clint walked into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. "She had a nightmare last night." Steve looked sharply at him. "Came in with Tony around quarter to four this morning and watched cartoons till she settled."  
Steve nodded, and turned to Clint as the girls started down. "Be careful. On your mission."  
Clint raised his cup in salute. "Always am."

* * *

With her lessons over for the morning, Natasha delivered (Y/N) to Bruce. The scientist grinned at the little girl, and something uncharacteristically devilish in the expression gave Natasha pause.  
"What are you planning on doing today?"  
"The Coke and Mentos experiment," he replied somewhat enthusiastically, turning an infectious smile to the redhead.  
She snorted, crossing her arms as his excitement began to make more sense. "What on earth does that have to do with science?"  
Bruce shrugged, rising to grab the materials. "I'll figure that out later."  
Natasha rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up. "That's not a Bruce thing to say."  
"It is rather a Tony thing, isn't it?" he asked with humor. Placing the supplies in a bag, he held out his hand for (Y/N) to take. "I find that Tony and (Y/N) have a lot of fun in art class. I think it's time for science to be fun."  
"Define 'fun'," she requested warily.  
Bruce smirked lightly, reading her concern. "They did abstract art last week, which consisted of covering the lab with drop cloths and throwing full cans of paint on a canvas." Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to smile. "Also, finger painting."  
"I understand. Have a good time," she said, leaving them to their lesson. "By all means."  
When she arrived at her room, Clint was reclining comfortably on her bed. Raising her brow at him, she emptied her pockets onto the desk and gestured for him to move over. Leaning back against the headboard, she faced him. Wordlessly, he reached out to pluck two pencils from her ponytail and handed them to her.  
They were silent for a few moments, before Natasha finally spoke. "Mission?"  
Clint nodded. "I head out today," he murmured with a pointed look toward the packed bag beside her closet.  
Natasha mulled his words over. "Need me?"  
"I always need you for something," Clint teased, allowing Natasha to hit him in retaliation before he sobered. "Maybe. I'm not sure yet."  
"I'll be there when you call," she said succinctly.  
Clint glanced at her, then returned his gaze to the wall as well. "What about the kid?"  
"The boys can handle her." Clint raised a brow at her nonchalance, causing her to shrug. "They're not that inept. Steve is positively skilled at child rearing. They can survive with her long enough for me to rescue you."  
"I won't need rescuing," Clint replied firmly, pointing a finger at her. "I never need rescuing."  
Natasha snorted inelegantly. "Indonesia."  
"Does. not. count," he growled. She sniffed, settling more firmly against the headboard. Lingering, Clint fidgeted with the threads in her coverlet. "I'll call."  
She pursed her lips. "I know you will."  
Scooting to the end of the bed, Clint slid off the end and hefted his bag over his shoulder. Returning to the side of the bed, he leaned over and brushed a kiss to her temple. Turning to the door, he stopped short when he heard her soft voice.  
"Are you going to say goodbye?"  
Blinking at her, he asked, "To the team?"  
She breathed in deeply, clearly trying to calm herself. "To (Y/N)."  
Clint paused, staring at her. "Am I supposed to?" he questioned slowly.  
"It might be nice."  
"I'm still not a saint," he warned her.  
She shook her head. "Saying goodbye to a small child isn't a saintly act, Clint. It's sweet."  
"You should know by now, Nat. I'm not a sweet kind of guy," Clint murmured, walking out of the doorway. "I'm all full of vinegar."

* * *

Clint quietly slipped out some time before lunch, leaving a gaping hole at the table, and a surprisingly subdued (Y/N). In an effort to cheer her up, Steve and Natasha took her outside to play and left Bruce and Tony to retreat to the labs. Tony lost himself in his work immediately, pulling one of the cars outside to tinker with.  
Bruce remained in his lab, immersed, and only looked up from his notebook at the sound of Steve and Natasha bickering heatedly.  
"I told you that you were playing too rough with her," Natasha snapped. Steve rolled his eyes, too stressed to care that it would anger the assassin further. Turning sideways, he slipped through the door she held open.  
"She's five, Natasha," he reminded her, cuddling (Y/N) closer as he spoke. "She's going to get scraped knees. It's part of the job, right, sweetheart?"  
(Y/N) nodded faithfully into his shirt, but her pained sniffle only stoked Natasha's ire. Bruce calmly closed his notebook and set it to the side, watching Steve hold (Y/N) close and take Natasha's verbal beating.  
"You didn't pitch this much of a fit when Thor took her flying a couple of weeks ago," Steve complained.  
Natasha's hands fisted at her sides to keep from slugging Steve at the memory. "Thor didn't let her fall," she ground out.  
"I didn't _let_ her fall." He sounded uncharacteristically exasperated. "And," he retorted with a hint of smugness, "you can't lay a hand on Thor without breaking your own bones."  
"I can hit _you_ just fine," she snarled.  
"Is everything alright?" Bruce stood, figuring it was best to interrupt the pair before Natasha made good on the threat in her eyes.  
"No," she growled. "Steve let (Y/N) bleed."  
"Hey," the soldier began to protest, but Bruce held up a hand. Smiling at (Y/N), he gently pulled her from Steve's arms.  
"Why don't the two of you go settle this elsewhere," he said pointedly, setting her down on the countertop, "while I take a look at this little scratch?"  
Shooing them efficiently out of the lab, Bruce regarded the little girl on his lab bench. Her tiny face was streaked with tears, scrunched up to try and stem the flow. Digging into his back pocket, he produced a handkerchief and began wiping at her cheeks.  
"I used to live in India," Bruce said idly as he set about gathering the supplies he needed. "They speak Hindi in some areas, and one little girl, that you remind me of, taught me a pretty word. Shehad. Do you know what that means in Hindi?"  
Glancing back at her, he saw her shake her head. "It means honey. We use it here as a term of endearment. Did your Uncle Phil call you something like that?"  
She nodded, and Bruce smiled as he brought the last of the supplies over.  
"I'm going to have to clean this up, okay, shehad? It's going to hurt, but you're a brave girl. I know you are." He tried soothing her with his voice as he dabbed some hydrogen peroxide on the scrapes. (Y/N) gripped the edge of the counter, whimpering.  
He spread some Neosporin on her knee and carefully placed a large bandage over his work. Wiping away a few residual tears with his handkerchief, he smiled at her. "There we go," he murmured. "See there, shehad? All better."  
She nodded and clung to him as he lifted her from the counter. She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck, unsubtly telling him to carry her. Obliging, Bruce carted her into the garage, where Steve and Natasha were engaged in a silent battle of wills.  
"It was touch and go for a moment," Bruce announced, diffusing the tension. "But she was so brave." Letting her down and passing a hand over her head, he smiled when she leaned into his leg for comfort. He smiled at Steve and Natasha. "Everything's fine now."  
"That's a relief," Natasha spat, reaching down and inspecting (Y/N) for additional injuries.  
Bruce glanced at Steve, receiving another eye roll as an answer. Quietly detaching (Y/N), he left her to Natasha's scrutiny.  
"Everything alright?" he muttered to Steve.  
Steve suppressed a snort of derision. "Clint left today on a mission. Natasha wanted him to say goodbye, and Clint was Clint."  
"Ah," Bruce said. "Then this makes much more sense."  
"Something on your minds, boys?"  
The two men turned to Natasha, eyes wide. "Nope," they replied simultaneously.  
Her eyes narrowed. "Good choice." Turning to (Y/N), she rose and held out her hand. "Let's go see Uncle Tony, serdce. He won't say mean things about Aunt Natasha."  
"Really?" Steve raised a brow at Bruce. "That's news to me."  
"Don't start," she hissed on her way past. "Don't start."

* * *

Natasha was incorrigible for days, so much so that the men left (Y/N) to her care, as the little girl was the only one who could lighten the assassin's black mood. Sizing up the situation, Thor declared his intentions to visit Jane and promptly left his companions to her mercies.  
"Traitor," Tony muttered beneath his breath when Thor informed him of his plans.  
The demi-god grinned at him. "There is such a thing as strategic retreat," he replied laughingly. "Send word to Jane Foster when the Widow is less temperamental."  
Steve nodded and Thor left. After a week of the rest of them walking on eggshells around the prickly redhead, Clint called her in and she was more than ready to go.  
"Take care of her, or I kill you in the worst ways imaginable," she threatened as she threw one of Tony's cars into drive and pulled out of the garage. Tony scowled at the retreating taillights and Steve lifted his hand in mock salute.  
Bruce rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head. "She _terrifies_ me," he confessed.  
"She terrifies everyone," Steve placated. "She's supposed to." Turning to Tony, Steve raised his brows. "You want to take first watch?"  
Tony grinned. "Kid's all mine."

* * *

The lights in the labs were on and music was blaring, covering up any noise that could have alerted Tony and Bruce to the arrival of Clint and Natasha.  
"I can't believe you got hurt again," Natasha scolded lightly as she helped Clint from the car. "You're such a klutz."  
"It's not my fault," Clint rejoined, groaning lightly as the thin scab on his wound stretched and tore. "That rebar was out to get me, Tasha. It had bloodlust in its eyes."  
"Shut up," she muttered, throwing Clint's arm around her shoulder and supporting him to the hallway. "Let's just get you to the couch."  
"It's just a scratch," he protested.  
They slowly traversed the hallway, passing (Y/N) playing quietly on the way. Clint ruffled her hair as he passed, blood beginning to leak from the slash on his side. The little girl watched them continue down the hallway and turn into the lounge, moving slowly to accommodate Clint's increasing weakness.  
Leaving her dolls in the hall, she trailed after them, peeking around the corner. Natasha settled Clint gingerly on the couch, darting into the kitchen for some towels. (Y/N) frowned at the scene and ducked back into the hallway.  
Bruce and Tony were arguing about something involving Santa when she walked into the lab lounge, causing them to silence abruptly. Tony glanced at her furrowed brow with concern. "What's up, kiddo?"  
She walked forward, wrapping her fingers around his pinky, and tugged him out of his chair. Looking back, she wrinkled her nose at Bruce, indicating that he should follow. Bemusedly, Bruce stood and walked up the hallway to the lounge.  
The two men stopped short at the sight of Natasha wiping blood from Clint's exposed torso, a pile of reddened rags littering the floor. (Y/N) poked Bruce's leg, drawing his attention downward. "Fix him," she whispered, to the abject shock of the entire room. "Please."


	5. Chapter 5

**_November_**  
(Y/N)'s soft plea had tugged at Clint in a way that he had not prepared for, and his first instinct was to back away, to reevaluate the situation. His injury helped him in his endeavors, since Tony had declared that (Y/N) shouldn't be overexposed to the sickroom and absconded to the labs with her.  
Clint found, disturbingly, that he missed the little girl's silent presence. Shaking the thought from his head, he glanced up at the sense of movement in his periphery. Natasha had materialized in front of him, the girl clinging to her hand. He blinked twice at their state of dress, matching black leotards and gauzy skirts. Deliberately looking back down at the apple he was peeling, Clint raised a brow.  
"What are you doing, Tiger?"  
He could feel her frown at him, and when he flicked his gaze back up, her eyes were flashing at his barely retrained amusement. "The little serdce and I are going to dance, and we need an audience. Come."  
He bit back a response at Natasha's nickname for the girl and simply hopped off the counter. He'd never been able to deny his partner anything, and this was no different. Snagging a jacket from the coat tree, he followed them up to the rooftop patio.  
The evening was perfectly clear, the winter cold beginning to settle in, so they were thankful for the heating system Tony had installed on the roof. Clint stretched, favoring his healing side, and dropped to the ground, leaning comfortably back against the chimney. Natasha cleared a few furniture pieces from the center of the patio and taught (Y/N) a short dance. She hummed the melody as they moved and the little girl grinned with delight.  
"Would you like to watch me dance?" Natasha asked after some time, when it looked like the child was tiring.  
(Y/N) nodded, her eyelids beginning to droop.  
"Come here," the older woman said, and picked her up. Natasha walked over to Clint and plopped (Y/N) in his lap with aplomb.  
"JARVIS," she called as the two stared somewhat warily at each other. "Play me some Tchaikovsky please."  
" _Of course, Agent Romanoff_ ," the AI responded and (Y/N) flinched a little.  
"You still don't like JARVIS?" Clint asked, his voice low as the music began to play. (Y/N) shook her head vehemently. Clint chuckled, settling back against the wall. "Me either."  
(Y/N) turned to him with questioning eyes, and Clint felt himself being sized up. For the first time in what felt like forever, he let his mask fall. (Y/N) seemed to find something redeemable in him, because when she faced Natasha again, she leaned back into Clint's chest, wiggling to find the perfect spot.  
They watched Natasha dance until the sun dipped low in the horizon and the torches lit themselves. At some point, (Y/N) fell asleep in Clint's lap. Subtly, he covered her with his jacket and tucked the sleeves behind his back. He watched with contentment as Natasha struck her last pose and the music faded away. Smiling slightly at the tableau before her, she walked gracefully forward.  
Clint smiled softly at her, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. Natasha ducked her head as he rose, his grip on the sleeping girl never faltering.

* * *

There was a shift in Clint's relationship with (Y/N) after the impromptu dance recital, as Natasha intended. They hadn't yet formed as strong of a bond as the others had, and (Y/N) still preferred to spend her time with the rest of the team.  
Natasha and Steve were still in the parental roles, always good for a cuddle or to soothe a tiny injury. Bruce was more of a softie than anyone would have guessed, and Tony ... Tony was the perfect playmate.  
"Come on, pipsqueak," Tony called, putting the last adjustments on a gauntlet. (Y/N) dropped her crayons onto her little workbench and toddled over curiously. He smiled down at her. "We're going to head out to the range and play. But it's got to be a secret, okay?"  
She nodded conspiratorially and Tony grinned at her immediate acceptance, taking her by the hand. He helped her into her obscenely pink coat and snuck out to the range, (Y/N) skipping happily next to him. Arriving and seeing that they were alone, Tony turned to the little girl, kneeling down to look her in the eyes.  
"Want to fire the repulsor on the gauntlet?"  
She nodded enthusiastically, and he fitted the glove onto her little hand with a grin. The gauntlet was so heavy that she couldn't lift it by herself, and Tony laughed a little as she struggled to bring her arm parallel to the ground. Holding it steady for her, he showed her how to fire the blast and helped her aim at the target at the other end of the range. It took her a few tries to hit it, but she squealed in excitement when she finally left a burn mark on the edge.  
"What are you doing?"  
Tony whirled at the sound of Clint's voice, relaxing when he saw that the archer was curious, rather than murderous.  
"We're just having a little fun," he replied, turning back to (Y/N) and helping her hold her arm up. He glanced back at Clint's silence and sighed at the impassive look on his face. "Relax. She's fine."  
Clint turned his gaze to (Y/N), who looked enthralled with the entire situation. He inclined his head at Tony, who grinned in response, and ruffled (Y/N)'s hair on his way past. Stationing himself at the other end of the range, Clint pulled the first arrow from his quiver.  
Tony frowned at something on the gauntlet, murmuring platitudes at (Y/N) as he gently tugged it from her hand. Sitting down, he pulled a screwdriver from his back pocket and began adjusting. (Y/N) watched Clint shoot with interest.  
Tony finished fixing the glove and repositioned it on her hand. (Y/N) continued to fire at the target, finally hitting the center with Tony's help, but between each shot, she was watching Clint. Tony noticed, and wisely let the matter slide. When (Y/N) started to shiver, he gently removed the gauntlet from her hand.  
"We're heading inside, Katniss," he called down the range. "Don't be late for dinner, or Steve won't let us eat."  
Clint waved a hand in acknowledgement and continued his practice. Nudging at (Y/N), Tony took her hand and led her back to the house, stashing the gauntlet in the bushes so as not to get caught. Steve met him at the door.  
"Looks like we're in trouble," Tony murmured to (Y/N).  
Steve rolled his eyes. "You're not in trouble. But at least leave a note the next time you sneak her away from the house."  
"Worried, Mom?" Tony smirked on his way past. Steve narrowed his eyes.  
"Natasha was." Tony froze. Steve looked particularly smug. "You forgot about her, didn't you?"  
Tony opened his mouth to say, "no," when as soft voice hissed, "yes," in his ear. He barely restrained a yelp of surprise, controlling his reaction enough to turn slowly around rather than leap out of his skin.  
"Agent Romanoff."  
Natasha was looking particularly lethal, despite the fact that she was barefoot, wearing one of Clint's too-large shirts and a pair of raggedy sweatpants. He flinched when she twitched her arms, cursing his body's involuntary movements. Instead, she picked (Y/N) up, managing to maintain a furious gaze, which honestly impressed Tony when he stopped to think about it.  
"Do that again," she threatened, holding (Y/N) close. "And you will eat your own entrails."  
Spinning on her heel, she stalked up to the bedrooms. The desired effect of her dramatic exit was lessened by the little girl curled on her shoulder, waving to the two men. When Natasha was out of sight, Tony let out his breath in a whoosh, collapsing into a seat at the table.  
"My life flashed before my eyes."  
Steve huffed a laugh. "I'm sure you enjoyed the reminders."  
Glaring, Tony propped his chin on his hand and accepted the proffered cup of coffee. "And here I thought there wasn't an unkind bone in your body."  
"Your mistake."  
Tony wrinkled his nose. "You need to stop hanging out with Clint. He's teaching you to say horrible things to me."  
Steve laughed, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting across from Tony at the table. "It's clearly not your influence whatsoever."  
"Agreed," the billionaire replied, and the conversation lapsed. They sat in companionable silence for few minutes, sipping at their coffee, when Tony spoke again. "Have you noticed how (Y/N) seems to be more interested in Clint these days?"  
Steve's mug paused in mid-motion, hovering in the air, and continued. "Yes."  
Tony's eyes narrowed in interest. "Anything you care to share with the class, Spangles?"  
Steve sighed. "It's not really my place to tell," he muttered gently. Tony scoffed.  
"There's no place for your wartime values here, Old Glory," he sniped. "What's going on?"  
Steve shot him a look, reaching back for the coffee pot. "It's common courtesy, not wartime values," he admonished. "And nothing is really going on."  
"Really?" Tony leaned forward as Steve refilled both cups. "Because I just had that little girl out on the range with one of my gauntlets, and she was more concerned with watching Barton shoot arrows at a target than she was with the gorgeous piece of equipment on her hand."  
Steve reared back. "You were  _what_?"  
"Not. important," Tony ground out. "Focus, Rogers."  
The disappearance of nicknames and subsequent emergence of surnames alerted Steve to the seriousness of the conversation. Rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, he acquiesced.  
"(Y/N) had noticed Clint disengaging from the situation."  
Tony snorted, crossing his arms. "Half the Eastern seaboard noticed. So?"  
"Well, she said something to me about it, and that made me really take a look at the situation. I went to Natasha with it."  
"Of course," Tony agreed. "What did Red have to say?"  
Steve raked a hand through his hair. "She said that she'd get Clint to stop acting like a ghost, but she didn't know how far into (Y/N)'s life she'd be able to get him to go."  
Tony regarded his cup for a moment, spinning it in circles on the table. "They're both willing to try," he murmured. "Based on her actions today and the conversation that I had with him a couple of weeks ago. But they don't really seem to understand how to get that going."  
Steve peered at Tony, resisting the urge to poke at him. "How long has it been since you slept? Because you're making a remarkable amount of sense."  
Tony glared at the soldier, nudging his cup across the table in a silent request for a refill. "Not long enough to tolerate this kind of behavior, Captain."  
Steve suppressed a smile as he refilled the cup again. Sobering, he turned hopeful eyes to Tony. "So, they're getting there?"  
Tony took a sip and nodded. "They're getting there."

* * *

Stepping into the mansion, Clint and Natasha began shucking layers of outerwear and training gear, leaving a haphazard trail from the front door to the kitchen. It had been a long day of training, and both were eager for a hot meal and some sleep.  
The scent of marinara sauce permeated the foyer and Clint sighed happily at the indication that Steve was cooking something classic and homemade for dinner. Inhaling deeply, with a grin on his face, he strode into the kitchen. He was hoping to knick a quick taste of the night's meal, but he froze in the doorway.  
(Y/N) sat happily on the counter next to Steve, little legs swinging while she chattered endlessly to the soldier. Steve made agreeing noises in the back of his throat as he stirred a pinch of something into the sauce, spooning up a taste for her. Clint crept closer, trying to hear what they were saying. Natasha, unbeknownst to him, watched with calm interest.  
"What do you think, sweetheart?" Steve cocked his head at the little girl. "Taste okay?"  
(Y/N) nodded furiously, her smile threatening to split her cheeks. Steve laughed at her enthusiasm, using his towel to wipe away a streak of sauce on her cheek. She must have seen movement from the corner of her eye, because the next thing Clint knew, she began waving enthusiastically at him. He glanced behind him, but Natasha had slipped out of sight. The little girl was excited to see him.  _Him_. Steve turned at the sudden change in her behavior, and greeted them.  
Clint didn't hear him. His heart clenched at the sight of the child on the counter, her hands now motionless, and he realized that he could feel the slightest swelling of pride that she was happy to see him. Admitting the fact to himself was akin to being stabbed, and he bit back a physical response.  
There were, very suddenly, soft hands on his arms as Natasha pushed him from the room. Nudging him gently back through the foyer, she motioned him outside and quietly closed the door behind her. Clint raked a hand through his hair in agitation. Natasha simply stood in the doorway, her arms crossed against the cold air that Clint didn't seem to notice.  
He paced for a few lengths along the front staircase, mumbling beneath his breath. Finally, he whirled on her, pointing at the mansion. "She was  _happy_ to see me."  
Saying the words aloud pained him more than he'd thought it would, a dull throb above his heart that was both happy and sad and something that he refused to let her see. Natasha gazed impassively back at him.  
"Have you just now noticed that?"  
Clint walked away a few steps and turned back, not noticing the small pair of curious brown eyes peeping around the ajar front door. Clint continued to pace erratically, grumbling beneath his breath. Glancing up at the understanding look on Natasha's face, he let loose another tirade.  
"Phil was a completely moron," he burst out. "He left a kid,  _with me_. I mean, come on, Nat. Who in their right mind would leave me in charge of the life of a child, and a  _girl_  at that? He must have been on fucking drugs or something."  
The little brown eyes disappeared.  
Natasha's gaze softened towards Clint. "You and I both know that Coulson always had a plan. He was a lot like Fury that way."  
"Then he should have told  _me_  the plan, since I seem to be  _integral to it_ ," Clint roared. "How in the name of fuck could he leave me a child and not tell me?"  
"No one plans to die, dumbass," Natasha snapped back, finally riled to a retaliation point.  
Already geared for a fight, Clint accepted her irritation with relish. "He gave instructions to Fury years ago."  
"Coulson knew you better than anyone on this planet, excluding me," she hissed. "So he knew how you'd react. I'd postpone that conversation as long as I could, too."  
"He at least told me that I'd be taking care of his assets when he died," Clint countered, ignoring the less-than-subtle dig at his temper.  
Natasha smirked outright at him, crossing her arms saucily and leaning back. Clint faltered, the reason for her smugness clicking. "And, what, precisely," she purred. "Do you think 'assets' includes?"  
Clint glared at her. "Shut up."  
"No," she retorted. "Your private pity party is over. Phil trusted you with her. Shape the hell up and act like you're worthy of that trust."  
Spinning on her heel, she marched back up the stairs, leaving Clint to sulk outside.  
"Do you want to know why?" She stilled in her retreat, arching a brow at him. Clint was standing perfectly still on the drive, his fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.  
He shifted his weight on his feet. "Why I'm acting like this."  
After a pause, she stepped down one step waiting.  
"I got Coulson drunk one night," he murmured, eyes distant, and she bit her tongue against a scathing comment. "After all those years of him drinking me under the table, I finally got him back. It was just after the kid was born, and he was so damned excited that he pulled out a wallet full of pictures to show me.  
Clint shook his head, ruffling his hair again. "That kid was his whole world, Nat. She was the only family he had left and he left her with me."  
"Of course he did," she soothed, but Clint dismissed her angrily.  
"Bullshit," he snarled. "Phil is dead because of me. She is alone,  _because of me_. I can't even take care of myself, let alone a kid. I've had a demi-god dicking around in my brain, as if I wasn't already fucked up eight ways to Sunday. I've got no right to put a kid through dealing with me."  
Natasha rolled her eyes. "You have us, stupid," she retorted, exasperated. "You aren't alone."  
Clint's eyes flashed with triumph and despair. "And he didn't know that was going to happen." She paused, taken aback. "For all Phil knew, it was just going to be me. He couldn't have even counted on you. There was no Tony to play with, no Bruce to fix teddy bears, no Captain fucking America to read her bedtime stories. There was me. And I'm not enough."  
She was silent in her shock, and Clint shrugged, shaking his head. Quietly, he turned down the drive and disappeared into the woods that lined the road, but his words echoed in the air.  
 _"I'm not enough."_

* * *

Steve was hard at work when Tony walked into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the soldier at the stove and surrounded by platters of food. The billionaire waved at (Y/N), who was happily sitting in the corner playing dolls with Bruce, and arched a brow at Steve.  
"What's the occasion, Betsy Ross?"  
Steve rolled his eyes, opening the oven and checking what was possibly the largest turkey Tony had ever seen. "Still not funny, Stark," he replied absently, checking the meat thermometer he placed in the bird. "And I'm making dinner."  
Tony took a seat at the table, swiping a finger through the mashed potatoes. "Why?"  
Steve turned to Tony, frowning. "What do you mean?"  
Tony gestured helplessly at the vast array of dishes that littered the kitchen. "I mean, dinner isn't normally this big of an affair. So what's up?"  
Steve stared at him. "Tony, do you know what day it is?"  
"Thursday?" Tony shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the incredulous look that Steve was giving him.  
"It's Thanksgiving," the soldier replied, thoroughly exasperated. Clint walked into the kitchen at that moment, sniffing appreciatively.  
"Sweet. What's the occasion?"  
"Thank you," Tony exclaimed, as Steve rolled his eyes and huffed. (Y/N) quietly packed up her dolls and walked towards the labs, leading Bruce by the hand. Clint watched, an aggrieved expression carefully masked on his face. Steve watched with mild sympathy.  
It had been the custom for the last few days. Clint would enter a room, and (Y/N) would promptly leave it, shooting tiny glares in the archer's direction. Clint seemed to be distraught at the visible loathing (Y/N) was beginning to present, but made no effort to reestablish a relationship. No amount of coaxing could pry a reason from (Y/N) as to this sudden break and the others had finally given up trying. Natasha simply watched the decline of their relationship with a sense of quiet despair.  
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Steve pulled a tray of rolls from the oven and carried it to the table, placing them into a basket. He slapped Tony's hand away from the bread with a mild glare and returned to his original topic. "Has America changed so much in the last seventy years that we don't celebrate Thanksgiving anymore?"  
Clint wrinkled his nose at Steve, swiftly thieving two rolls when the soldier turned his back and handed one to Tony. "Tasha and I are usually on missions over Thanksgiving."  
"Bruce hasn't lived in the States in years and I don't do holidays," Tony replied around a mouthful of bread.  
"Well, you'll start," Steve said firmly. When Tony visibly balked, Steve walked swiftly over to him, shooting a glance in the direction that (Y/N) had disappeared, one stern finger raised in admonishment.  
"Look, that little girl has lost every biological family member she has before she's turned six and now she's living in a house full of superheroes, none of whom have really had a normal life. We owe it to her to give her the most normal childhood we can." Tony slammed his mouth shut and Steve looked slightly relieved. "So, we're faking our way through Thanksgiving and we're celebrating Christmas with all the trimmings. Got it?"  
"You got it, Cap," Tony muttered, stuffing the last bit of roll into his mouth. Clint nodded silently, refusing to meet Steve's stern gaze.  
"Now," Steve began, relaxing slightly. "If you're not going to help, get the hell out of my kitchen. I haven't even started making the pies."  
Clint burst into laughter. Tony simply shook his head. "You sound like a nineteen fifties housewife, and that's sad."  
"I'll make an apple pie just for you," Steve retorted, changing the oven temperature and plucking a bag of apples from the refrigerator.  
"I take it all back."  
Clint snorted. "You're easy to please, aren't you?"  
Tony swiveled in his seat. "Have you tasted that man's apple pie? It's delicious."  
As Tony and Clint delved into a detailed discussion of types of pie and perfect recipes, Natasha made her way into the kitchen. Sparing an indecipherable glance for Clint, she slipped past Tony to peek into the mixing bowl Steve was holding.  
"Are you making cherry pie too?" she asked softly, the faintest hint of warning in her tone.  
Steve thought for the scarcest second about Natasha's demeanor of late before he answered. "I can be if you want me to."  
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed faintly. "I want you to."  
"Cherry it is," he affirmed. Natasha smiled in response.  
Tony muttered, "wuss," beneath his breath, wincing at Natasha's resultant glare. Shooting one last glance in Clint's direction, she glided back upstairs. Clint eyed her departure with mild interest for a moment before hopping lightly down and following.  
Steve and Tony exchanged interested glances. After a brief pause, they simultaneously shook their heads, silently washing their hands of the situation.

* * *

Natasha heard Clint's tread on the first stair and quietly suppressed the urge to slam the door in his face. Moving further down the hallway, into his room, she left the door cracked as a reluctant invitation. He peeked in for a moment and, judging the air of the room to be less dangerous than he'd expected, slipped in.  
Natasha crossed her arms, staring out the window. "She heard you," she murmured softly, her voice heavy with reproach.  
Clint inhaled sharply. "I didn't mean –,"  
"Of course not," she continued, her tone never changing. "You would never mean for her to hear you vilify Phil like that. But she did."  
He remained silent. Natasha turned around, finally facing him, and the censure in her gaze was crippling. "What are you going to do about it?"  
Clint had reached his breaking point. "What the fuck do you want me to do, Natasha?"  
"I don't know," she admitted with a snap, raising her voice to match his. "But you have to do something."  
" _Why_?" His question was low and hissed, full of the frustration he felt. "She obviously hates me. There's no point in trying to salvage anything from that."  
"I didn't tell you this so that you could just give up," she snarled. Eyeing his defeated posture for a moment, she sighed. "I read that letter too," she reminded him.  
Clint shook his head, walking away a few paces. "Fuck Phil."  
"You don't mean that," she reproached. Giving him a moment to gather himself, she pressed her advantage. "He knew that you'd have a rough acclimation period, but he thought you'd be a good father, when it all came down to it."  
"He was wrong," Clint muttered, biting back the urge to punch a hole in the wall.  
"Phil was never wrong."  
Her soft response cut deeper than he'd anticipated, and Clint had to bite back a visceral response. He sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow. "There's no point, Babushka," he muttered somewhat fondly, dusting off his favorite old nickname. "Sometimes, things are too far gone."  
"It took you a year to convince me that you weren't a complete idiot," she offered, feeling that he'd been beaten down enough. "You haven't been that patient with her. Bad form for a sniper."  
He chuckled humorlessly. "Good effort," he admitted, heading for the door. "But I think you need to give this up for broke."  
She caved, walking forward and laying a restraining hand on his arm. "And I think that you need to give this another chance. Give her a chance."  
He smirked. "Because you'll nag me until I do?"  
"Essentially," she replied, smiling.  
Clint sobered, staring at his bare feet. "What if it doesn't work out, Nat? What if I ruin Phil's little girl?"  
"For a romantic," she observed lightly. "You're a remarkable realist."  
"It's all that time spent around Tony and Bruce," he responded. "You didn't answer my question."  
"Treat this like a mission. Sometimes, you need to blindside them. Sometimes, you need assistance. And sometimes, you need a tactical retreat." At his skeptical look, she sighed. "Clint, you have to try. For Phil."  
He pursed his lips, but nodded in understanding.  
She watched him for a moment more as he reached the door and turned the knob. "Do you think you can forgive Phil, now?"  
"No," he replied, shooting her a smile to show that he was teasing. She sighed softly in exasperation. He shrugged. "I'll start with dinner. I think Steve might actually kill me if I miss it."  
"Dinner?" Natasha furrowed her brow. "What's so special about dinner?"  
Clint simply grinned, shaking his head. Stepping out into the hallway, he was met face to face with (Y/N). Natasha hovered behind him. "Serdce?"  
It was obvious that (Y/N) had been listening in on their conversation, from the empty glass sitting on the floor and the red ring around her ear. What she had heard and understood, however, was somewhat less clear. The only thing that was evident was that she was furious.  
Scrunching up her little face into the angriest expression she could manage, (Y/N) let out a wordless wail and charged forward, kicking Clint in the shins as hard as she could. When he showed no visible signs of pain, she kicked him again, spurring Natasha to pick her up and restrain her.  
As Natasha murmured platitudes to the little girl, Clint stepped back into the room, feeling physically sick. (Y/N) stilled in Natasha's arms, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.  
"It was a good try, Babushka," he whispered as something cracked inside of him. "It was a good try."

* * *

Natasha stared at Clint's closed door, hopelessness swirling in her chest. (Y/N) sniffled in her grasp, burying her little face into Natasha's shoulder. Rubbing a calming hand along (Y/N)'s back, the assassin stepped back and slowly made her way down the stairs, looking as upset as the little girl.  
Bruce had joined Steve and Tony in the kitchen, sitting at the table as Steve removed a pie from the oven. Natasha descended into the room, and the three of them immediately silenced. Tony rose swiftly, arms outstretched to take (Y/N), and Steve's brows lowered dangerously.  
"What happened?" (Y/N) whimpered, leaning into Tony's hands, and Natasha pinched at the bridge of her nose in an uncharacteristic display of frustration.  
"(Y/N) has learned to eavesdrop," she announced. Bruce and Steve immediately turned disapproving gazes towards Tony, who raised his free hand in surrender. "And it seems that she's been hearing all the wrong parts of the conversations I'm having with Clint."  
Steve subtly positioned himself in front of (Y/N), who was currently being soothed by Tony and Bruce. "Natasha."  
Her eyes were trained over his shoulder. "She's angry, not sad," she said quietly. "Clint is afraid that he'll hurt her and I've been pushing him to try anyway. The conversations we have are a little," she paused, searching for the right words. "Argumentative."  
Steve raised his brow. "We've noticed," he replied dryly. She frowned at him and he stared back unapologetically. "You're not quiet."  
She narrowed her eyes and pitched her voice so that Tony and Bruce could also hear. "You have no idea how loud I can be."  
At Tony's involuntary snort of laughter, Steve's brain clicked with the realization of what her underlying meaning was, and he turned crimson with embarrassment. "So you and Clint are fighting," he said loudly, hoping to change the topic of conversation.  
"The point is," she announced, raising her voice slightly to cover the sound of Tony's chuckles. "(Y/N) has been listening at the doors and she's not getting all of the information. So when Clint and I started down for dinner, she literally attacked him and now I think Clint has given up."  
Steve paused. "Define 'given up'."  
With a wordless glance at Bruce, Natasha moved with Steve further into the kitchen and away from the pair that Bruce was nudging towards the television. "It means that he's likely upstairs, right now, forming some sort of retreat."  
Steve sighed. "Is there anything we should do?"  
Natasha was shaking her head before he finished his sentence. "Clint has to figure this out on his own. I've done all that I can at this point. We let him sort this out in his own time, or we risk pushing him over the edge. Until then, we continue on as we have."  
"That means food, right?" Tony queried from the couch. (Y/N) was curled into his side, cuddled between the billionaire and Bruce, and an absurdly pink princess show was playing quietly on the screen.  
Natasha rolled her eyes in concert with Steve. "Yes, Tony, that means food," she answered. Bruce stood and flicked off the television, smoothing his hands down his pants legs.  
"Good. It smells amazing, Steve."  
"Well, then." The soldier blushed slightly at the genuine praise. "Let's have dinner."  
Bruce quickly set the table while Natasha helped Steve lay the platters out. Steve had gone to great lengths to make Thanksgiving a true traditional meal. The turkey was perfectly cooked and accompanied by heaping dishes of fragrant stuffing, creamy mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and browned rolls.  
While the food was delicious, the dinner itself was a somewhat strained affair. (Y/N) slowly warmed over the course of the meal, with continuous, gentle prodding from Tony and Natasha, so that she was back to normal by the time Steve began to dish out slices of pie.  
Tony took her upstairs to tuck her in when her eyes began to droop after dinner. Bruce helped Steve clean the dishes while Natasha perched herself on the counter, watching quietly. Silence fell as the two fell into the routine of boxing up leftovers, washing, and drying the dishes, and the trio went to bed wordlessly, consumed with their own thoughts.

* * *

Clint picked up his single piece of luggage and slipped out of his room, the early morning sky still dark in the pre-dawn hour. He hefted his duffle more securely over his shoulder as he descended the stairs as quietly as he could. The kitchen was unusually dark, leading him to believe that Steve had slept in, for once.  
"Must have been all that turkey," he muttered to himself, turning towards the front door.  
"What?"  
Clint, startled, dropped his bag and attacked. The ensuing scuffle lasted scant seconds and ended with Steve pinning him embarrassingly to the floor. Amusement threaded through the soldier's voice. "Are you finished?"  
"Yes," Clint grunted, pushing up on his arms as Steve let up on his back. Clint shot to his feet, dusting himself off with a slight discomfiture.  
Steve had locked eyes on his luggage and, when he spoke, his voice was dangerously quiet. "What is that for?"  
Clint stiffened, narrowing his eyes at the accusatory tone. "I've been given a new mission."  
"You were given a new mission, or you requested a new mission?" The archer's silence was all the answer Steve needed, and he sighed softly. Clint bit back a groan at Steve's insight, shifting his stance. Steve crossed his arms, looking terribly like Coulson when he had disapproved of Clint's plans. "You can't keep running away from whatever it is that's bothering you."  
Clint let an easy grin slide onto his face. "I'm pretty good at cross country, Cap. I'll bet I can surprise you."  
He moved towards his bag, but Steve shifted into his way. Clint stepped back slowly, his eyes hard. The soldier stared inexorably back at him. "Will you be back for Christmas?"  
"With bells and whistles, sir yes sir," Clint mocked, skirting around Steve and hefting his duffle back onto his shoulder.  
Steve sighed again, allowing Clint to head down to the garage. "Be careful," he called softly after the retreating archer. "And come home safe."  
Clint stilled on his way, recognizing the sincerity in Steve's words. Sobering, he nodded once, and disappeared into the early morning light.


	6. Chapter 6

December  
Concern for Clint, (Y/N), and the situation in general put Steve in quite the mood as the Christmas season advanced. He was determined to make Christmas a better experience than Thanksgiving turned out to be, and, as a result, he treated holiday preparations much like battle plans.  
Breakfast was finished, the dishes thoroughly rinsed and placed carefully in the dishwasher, but the team continued lounging in the kitchen. Steve, who was at the counter and nearly finished with the first batch of sugar cookie dough, had insisted that they stay to hear their "holiday assignments". Thor had arrived at some point during the night and was now watching the proceedings intently.  
"Natasha, I want you and Bruce to decorate the manor," Steve ordered, looking marginally less impressive than usual in an apron embroidered with Christmas ornaments. (Y/N) ducked around him, sneaking a piece of dough. Tony frowned at Steve from his position at the tea table, stifling a joke at the copious amounts of flour streaking the soldier's hair.  
"Why can't I help?"  
Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you like me to answer that with examples?"  
Scowling, Tony accepted a stolen morsel of cookie dough from (Y/N) and stuffed it in his mouth. "No."  
"Thor and I will get a tree," Steve said, turning back to the room at large. Thor perked up slightly at the information. (Y/N) trotted back into the kitchen, offering up her empty teapot for lemonade. The soldier smiled down at her as he took it from her little hands. "What do you think, sweetheart? Would you rather get a Christmas tree or stay and decorate the mansion?"  
(Y/N) wrinkled her nose with indecision for a moment, and ultimately tugged on his apron in answer.  
Looking back up at the assembled team, he nodded once. "Shall we get started?"  
Natasha took his military approach to the holiday in stride, motioning for Bruce to follow her to the attic for decorations. Tony rolled his eyes, patting (Y/N)'s head as he headed down to the labs after pouring himself a large mug of coffee. Steve turned to Thor, pulling his apron off and striding towards the entrance to the garage.  
"I'll grab a saw, and we can head out."  
"A saw?" Thor raised a brow at him in question. "Can I not fell the tree with Mjölnir?"  
Steve stopped mid stride and stared for a moment, (Y/N) giggling into her hand at his expression. "No," he managed, his voice slightly strangled. "I think we need a saw."  
Steve ignored Thor's slightly petulant expression as they trudged out to the woods, saw in hand. The trio picked their way through the forest, occasionally stepping over small streams and helping (Y/N) over felled logs. The air was biting cold and their breath swirled in clouds around their heads as they trudged deeper and deeper through the trees, until Steve stopped.  
"That one," he murmured, smiling softly at the brilliantly green fir tree. Thick verdant needles covered the branches, tapering to velvety points at the ends. The top stood perfectly straight in the air, the rest of the tree forming a uniform cone to a bottom that fanned out over the forest floor. Glancing down at (Y/N), he nudged her shoulder and pointed out the prospective timber. "Don't you think?"  
The grin she beamed him in response was blinding and he laughed a little at her enthusiasm. He took a turn around the tree to determine the best angle with which to approach the task, Thor looking on with amusement. Coming to a decision, he gently picked (Y/N) up and placed her near another tree, well out of harm's way.  
"I don't think it's going to take me very long to slice through this trunk," he informed Thor. "So just catch the tree when it starts falling towards you."  
"I feel as though this is the point wherein I say, 'Aye Captain'," Thor muttered with a twinkle in his eyes. Steve glared mildly at him, resisting the urge to tease back, and knelt to begin his task.  
The saw, well honed and with plenty of strength behind it, sliced through the base of the tree like butter and the fir was soon toppling towards the demi-god. He caught it with one hand and, grasping the freshly sawn trunk, hefted the weight of the tree over his shoulder.  
He turned to Steve and (Y/N). "Shall we?"  
"I think so," Steve replied. (Y/N) held out her hands entreatingly and Steve dropped into a crouch, allowing her to clamber onto his back. She slung her arms loosely around his neck and he gripped her firmly at the knees, carrying her back to the mansion.  
The trip was quiet for a moment, Steve reveling in the peace of the forest, and then Thor spoke. "Why do you carry the small one thusly?"  
(Y/N) burrowed her cold nose into the back of his neck and Steve suppressed a shiver as he answered Thor. "Well, she's a little tired," he explained. "Piggyback is just easier for her."  
"Piggy back?" Thor questioned, doubt coloring his voice. "Why is this method of transport named after your farm animals?"  
Steve paused for a moment. "I have no idea," he admitted sheepishly. "It just is."  
"Humans are quite strange, my friend," Thor said finally, shifting the burden on his shoulders. Steve murmured an amused agreement, leading the way. They set the tree in a bucket of water on the back patio and savored the heat that enveloped them when they walked inside.  
While Steve was sure that Christmas decorating had not been a part of Natasha's training, he had to admit that she had done a good job. The mansion looked like something out of a magazine.  
Pine garland had been wrapped with beads and white lights and twined around the staircase banisters. More garland was draped along the ceiling, edging the room in glittery green. Winter-related figurines were carefully placed on any available surface and, if the scents of cinnamon and gentle flicker of flames were anything to go by, she'd sent Bruce to the store for candles at some point. Natasha was busy hanging glass ornaments from strings in the kitchen and Bruce was bringing another few boxes of decorations into the breakfast nook. He set his burden down and greeted the trio.  
"What do you think?" He gestured to the festive decorations that littered the downstairs area. "She hasn't made it to the bedrooms yet, but I think we're doing pretty good so far."  
"I'd agree," Steve replied with a grin. "I think this is perfect."  
"It needs a tree," Natasha commented, her gaze piercing. "You found one, correct?"  
"It is outside," Thor announced. (Y/N), who was busy twirling herself into dizziness, fell into a giggling heap at his feet. Reaching down with one hand, he helped (Y/N) right herself. "Steve has chosen a fine specimen."  
Natasha peered skeptically at the two men, unaware of Bruce's laughing gaze behind her. "That remains to be seen."  
Steve smiled, not unkindly. "It's outside, if you'd like to see for yourself."  
Natasha shot him a tiny glare as she headed to the door. Icy air swirled through the doorway when she opened it, stepping outside. The men peeked out amusedly after her, watching as she scrutinized the tree. She nodded once in satisfaction and turned back towards the open door, pausing at the sight of the others. Tilting her chin up, she stalked past them. "It will be sufficient."  
The men hid their laughter as best they could and returned inside with her. (Y/N) had hitched herself onto a purloined chair and was digging through one of the boxes on the counter. Natasha reached around her to pick up the tree stand and set it to the side of the television. Steve brought the tree in and Bruce helped him stand it properly, fussing over whether or not it was perfectly straight.  
"It's fine," Natasha finally said, ending the brewing argument. Directing Thor, she helped him bring the decorations closer. The demi-god set his boxes down and began inching out of the room. Natasha narrowed her eyes.  
"You're helping," she said firmly, leaving no room for argument. Thor eyed her uncertainly, weighing the gravity of her threat. Natasha gazed back at him, one eyebrow raised irreverently, and he ultimately decided that disregarding her command was not worth the effort.  
Turning to Steve, he looked resignedly at the soldier. "What am I to do?"  
"Here," Steve replied laughingly. He handed Thor a string of lights. "First, we put lights on the tree. Then we'll decide how to decorate it."  
Steve and Thor quickly strung the lights while Natasha finished removing the tins of tissue wrapped ornaments from the box. (Y/N) convinced Bruce to make a few sandwiches for lunch and pass them out. Steve smiled as he accepted one and Thor managed to stuff three in his mouth at once. Tony popped up from the labs in time to snag another three.  
"Well, you've all been busy, haven't you?"  
Bruce grinned at him. "As have you, I see," he replied, motioning to Tony's rumpled clothing and grease streaked skin. Tony frowned down at himself.  
"It's not as bad as it could be," he protested, dropping onto the couch and pulling (Y/N) into his lap. "I've looked way worse in the past."  
"I'll believe that," Steve muttered dryly, sharing a grin with Thor. Tony shot him a mild glare. Steve strung the last bit of lights on the tree and dusted his hands off. "What next?"  
Natasha shoved a tin of ornaments into his hand. "Hang these."  
(Y/N) slid off of Tony's lap and scampered towards Natasha, hands reaching for a tin of ornaments. The assassin handed one to her with a smile and (Y/N) beckoned to Tony. With a huff and a slight grin, Tony rose and joined the team to decorate the tree. At some point during the decorating, (Y/N) implored Steve to roll out some dough and make sugar cookies. When the last ornament was hung, he passed a plate with cookies around to the gathered team. Bruce plugged the tree in and they all stepped back to take a look.  
"Not too shabby," Tony muttered appreciatively.  
Natasha snorted as Steve rolled his eyes. Thor crossed his arms, looking for all the world like a conquering hero. "The tree is worthy of a team of warriors such as ourselves. We have done well, my friends."  
"I agree," Bruce put in, (Y/N) dancing happily around the legs of the team. "It's lovely."  
Natasha nodded in agreement and clapped her hands. "Next room."  
Natasha took over the decorating preparations and, taskmaster that she was, doled out assignments more ruthlessly than Steve. Thor tactfully retreated to see Jane for a few days, if only to escape Natasha's orders. By the end of the week, each room in the house had its own tree. Garland draped tastefully from the moldings and knickknacks sat strategically around the hallways and bedrooms. Not even the labs were spared her holiday assault, despite Tony's vehement objections. The team went to bed exhausted, but beginning to feel some holiday cheer, Steve more than most.  
It took a few days, but there was soon a small pile of presents beneath the tree, each tag written out in Steve's careful hand. Tony simply rolled his eyes at the sight.  
"You really are a Boy Scout, aren't you?" He shook his head as he sipped at his coffee. "Always prepared."  
"It's only two weeks before Christmas," Steve replied defensively, the tips of his ears red. (Y/N) tumbled back down the stairs, her syrup-stained shirt exchanged for a clean one. "I'd wager you hadn't even started your shopping yet."  
"Pepper does my shopping," Tony reminded him, refilling his coffee to take downstairs. "So it's probably been done since July." Throwing an absent wave over his shoulder, the billionaire disappeared into his lab. Steve glanced down at (Y/N), who was staring intently at the gifts under the tree.  
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"  
(Y/N) looked up at Steve with a miserable expression and glanced back at the pile of presents. Steve watched her blankly for a moment before the pieces clicked into place.  
"Did you buy Uncle Phil Christmas presents?" She nodded, eyes fixed on the tree. Abandoning the mess in the kitchen, Steve crouched beside her, waiting a few minutes for her to say something. When she remained silent, he shifted on his feet so that he could see her face better. "Want me to take you shopping?"  
She nodded vehemently, looking somewhat relieved, and Steve smiled at her.  
"Well," he said, standing. "Let's go get your shoes on and your coat. We can see if anyone wants to come with us."  
Steve fitted a pair of sneakers onto her feet and helped her as she fumbled with the laces. Nudging her gently towards the stairs and making small talk, he picked both of their coats up from the rack. Tony was at his desk when they arrived and (Y/N) ran towards him with a smile. Steve quietly marveled at the change that came over Tony's face as he allowed (Y/N) to pull him into a hug.  
"Well hey there, pipsqueak," he greeted, pulling her into his lap. "Where are you going?"  
"(Y/N) needs to go Christmas shopping," Steve told him, pulling the keys to the Audi from the rack on the wall. "So I'm going to take her. Would you like to come too?"  
There was a brief moment of blind panic on Tony's face and he dropped his gaze to (Y/N)'s hopeful eyes. "I, uh," Tony floundered. "I have work to do. A lot of work."  
(Y/N)'s face fell ever so slightly and Tony visibly flinched. Steve suppressed a grin as Tony curled an arm around (Y/N) and leaned back to snag his wallet off the other desk. Flipping through his credit cards, he pulled one out and handed it to her, closing her little fingers around it.  
"But," he continued. "I want you to go shopping with Uncle Steve and buy presents for everyone. Get them whatever you want, okay?"  
(Y/N) pouted for a moment, more for show than anything, but eventually took a look at the stacks of paperwork Tony had on his desk and nodded in agreement. He ruffled her hair in apology as she slid from his lap. Tony narrowed his stare at Steve.  
"You watch her like a hawk, you understand me?"  
Steve rolled his eyes. "We're going to the mall. I think we can both survive."  
"You don't know what it's like now, Spangles. Random kidnappings and muggings everywhere. And kids are sneaky, especially ours." He frowned at himself in consternation. "We never should have let the master spy take care of her."  
"Tony." The billionaire glanced up at Steve's firm voice, glaring at the soldier's obvious amusement. "I kept track of my entire team and more than a few platoons during some of the heaviest firefights of the war. I think I can manage one small child." He glanced down at (Y/N), standing dutifully by his side. "Right, sweetheart?"  
She nodded sagely in response to him and Steve smiled. "We'll be back in time for dinner," he assured and Tony looked up with wide eyes.  
"You're not cooking?"  
"No," Steve called over his shoulder as he led (Y/N) to the car and opened the door. "But I left cash for the pizza on the counter."  
Tony sighed with relief, watching Steve buckle (Y/N) into her car seat. The soldier threw his hand up as he backed the car out and (Y/N) waved furiously out of the rear window as they drove away.  
Lightning split the sky on their way down the long drive and Steve immediately braked, hoping that Thor had the presence of mind to avoid the car. He did, thankfully, and grinned at them from his landing site down the road. Steve slowly accelerated until they were level with the demi-god. He was wearing Midgardian clothes for a change, one of Jane's influences. Steve rolled his window down and Thor leaned against the car, looking inside.  
"Where are you taking the little one?"  
"Shopping for Christmas presents," Steve replied while Thor returned (Y/N)'s happy wave. He turned back to Steve.  
"I am somewhat familiar with what you speak of," Thor announced. "Jane has told me of your winter season traditions, which appear similar to traditions we maintain in Asgard. However, we do not have a jolly saint or men made out of snow, though I should like to see them. I would like to accompany you on your outing, if I may."  
Steve smiled warmly. "Of course." He unlocked the car door and Thor slid into the passenger seat, placing Mjölnir at his feet. "What did Jane tell you, anyway?"  
The drive was filled with Thor relating the conclusions he'd drawn from Jane's information and Steve patiently correcting him where he was mistaken. Thor was most concerned with Santa Claus.  
"Midgardians are not troubled that they must leave an offering of sweet treats to a man that enters into their homes without a key?" His brow was furrowed with confusion and Steve bit the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh aloud. (Y/N) was quietly watching the scenery pass from her car seat, but he could tell that she was listening.  
"No, Thor," he replied. "We aren't. I'll explain it better later."  
Thor settled back into his seat, crossing his arms over the seatbelt. "I look forward to it."  
Steve parked the car and they tumbled out, stretching gratefully after the long drive. He unbuckled (Y/N) and she took his hand, pulling him insistently towards the shopping mall. Thor followed sedately, looking curiously around at the mass of people entering and exiting the building.  
"Who is Macy, and why does he own a store this massive?"  
Steve hooked an arm around (Y/N)'s waist, effectively halting her desperate forward momentum, and spoke over his shoulder. "He's a business man that started a company to sell things to others. America is a big place, with a lot of people, so they need big stores."  
Thor raised an eyebrow skeptically, but nodded. Steve tossed (Y/N) over his shoulder, to her audible delight, and opened the door for a gaggle of ladies exiting the store. Smiling at their words of thanks, he walked right into the women's lingerie section and turned a particular shade of crimson. Thor stepped up behind him and took in the situation, grinning.  
"Come along, my friend," he murmured, gently nudging the soldier forward. "I do not think the little one can find any presents here."  
"Nope," Steve replied, his voice somewhat higher pitched than normal as he began walking quickly forward. "Let's go."  
His blush faded as they exited the lingerie and entered the heart of the store. Gently, he set (Y/N) on her feet and took her hand.  
"Where should we go first?"  
(Y/N) pursed her lips and wrinkled her nose for a moment, looking around the store with concentration. Her eyes lit on the jewelry counter and she tugged Steve in that direction. He laughed.  
"Natasha it is, then."  
(Y/N) proved to have remarkably good taste as she scoured the glass cases. One of the younger salesladies spied Steve and began to sidle over, but her advance was thwarted by an elderly African-American woman, who seemed to know what the younger woman was about.  
"Hi there," the older woman said, leaning over to address a beaming (Y/N). "My name is Clara. How can I help you?"  
(Y/N) pointed one finger into the case, indicating a particular pendant in the back. Steve stepped forward to help, knowing that (Y/N) wouldn't say a word, but Clara had the situation well in hand.  
"Oh, this one is a pretty thing, I think," she exclaimed softly, unlocking the glass and reaching in. "Here you go."  
She pulled the necklace off of the stand and unrolled a long piece of black velvet, laying the chain out for (Y/N) to see. The little girl rose onto her tiptoes, peeking over the edge of the counter. Smiling, Steve hoisted her up and propped her on his hip so that she could see. (Y/N) frowned at the necklace, a simple piece with a rich, fiery opal backed by tiny silver filigree, and leaned forward onto the glass for a better look.  
Clara smiled kindly. "It's alright for you to pick it up, honey. Don't worry."  
(Y/N) hesitated, glancing up for Steve's nodded confirmation, and gently picked the pendant up. She turned it over in her hand for a moment, but ultimately shook her head and laid it back down. She wiggled out of Steve's grip and prowled the counter, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. Clara trailed her, keeping an eye on the little girl. Steve moved back to stand with Thor and crossed his arms.  
"Not quite what you were expecting?" he muttered to the demi-god.  
Thor shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on (Y/N). "Not quite, my friend. I have never seen intent such as this on anywhere other than a battlefield."  
Steve grinned. "She is something, isn't she?"  
They watched her select another piece and nod happily. She beamed at the two of them and Clara motioned them over.  
"I think she's found something she wants, gentlemen," Clara announced happily. "It's a lovely piece. Whoever gets it on Christmas will be very pleased."  
The necklace was a bit small in comparison to most of the gaudy pendants in the cases, but it was no less beautiful. Small, clear diamonds surrounded a deeply green emerald and hung from a delicate chain. It was perfectly Natasha.  
Steve smiled up at Clara. "I think we'll take it."  
Clara made idle chitchat as she rung up the transaction and wrapped the box. (Y/N) proudly handed over Tony's credit card and accepted the gift in return.  
"You take care," Clara said. "Have a very merry Christmas, honey."  
(Y/N) waved goodbye as she trotted away, one hand clutching the box to her chest. Thor watched the crowds curiously while they walked along. Steve glanced down at (Y/N)'s prodding, accepting Natasha's present and pocketing it.  
"What next, sweetheart?"  
Thor turned leadingly in the direction of the food court. "I think that it is time we break for sustenance. It is nearly midday, correct?"  
Steve smiled with fond exasperation, but motioned them forward. (Y/N) giggled, reaching out for Thor's hand. He took it gingerly, allowing her to tug him in the direction of the food.  
Lunch was unhurried and laughter-filled, and the object of most of the area's interest. The sight of the two men being cowed by a tiny five year old was both amusing and endearing to the onlookers, in addition to the obscene amount of food Thor was consuming.  
Having purchased Natasha's gift, (Y/N) was now wandering the mall corridors somewhat aimlessly while Steve and Thor made idle talk. Suddenly, Steve stopped mid sentence as (Y/N) whirled around with a small gasp and shoved at his knees. The force wasn't enough to physically move him, but she kept pushing, regardless of her lack of progress.  
Acceding to her clear request, he stepped backwards, moving until his calves hit a bench and he toppled onto it. (Y/N) nodded in satisfaction and turned back around. Steve looked up at Thor in confusion. "What just happened?"  
"I believe you were bested by a small child," Thor told him helpfully, grinning at Steve's mild glare. Watching the standoff between soldier and child for a moment, Thor finally sighed slightly. "The little one cannot purchase your gift if you are with her, can she?"  
Steve's face lit with understanding and he looked at (Y/N) for confirmation. At her nod of agreement, he smiled. "I'll wait right here," he promised her.  
Satisfied, (Y/N) held her hand out for Thor to take and proceeded to lead him into one of the surrounding stores without hesitation. Deciding to check in with Bruce, and make sure that Tony hadn't torn the mansion down, Steve pulled out his cell phone and dialed the house.  
Bruce picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"  
"It's Steve," he replied, and both men paused as they heard Tony in the background.  
"Is that Spangles? Put it on speaker, Bruce."  
Steve was positive that he could hear Bruce roll his eyes on the other end. "Alright." There was a muffled noise and a loud beep that had him wincing before Bruce spoke again. "There we are. Speaker."  
"Did you lose her yet?"  
Steve sighed, leaning back against the bench. "I did not lose her, Tony."  
"Then where is she?"  
"She's with Thor," Steve said, glancing into the store. "She's getting me a Christmas present and I can't be there for it."  
Tony was quiet for a moment. "I guess Point Break is an acceptable alternative babysitter. No one in their right mind would mess with him."  
"I'm sure there was an insult in there somewhere," Steve murmured, feeling both exasperated and amused. "But I'm not going to try and figure out if it was intended for Thor or me."  
"Wise decision," Bruce chimed in.  
Thor watched with amusement as (Y/N) lugged Steve's present from one end of the store to the other, scrutinizing various items to ensure that she'd chosen correctly. She finally stopped, grasping her purchase with both hands, and sat herself on one of the displays.  
Thor knelt before her. "You have chosen well for our Captain, little one. Fret not."  
(Y/N) chewed at her lip and looked at him with hopeful eyes as he rose. Mulling his words over, she finally grinned happily in agreement. He eyed her for a moment more, arms crossed.  
"You appear tired, little one," Thor rumbled gently, smiling softly when (Y/N) nodded, frowning at her shoes. He took the bags from her hands and placed them on the floor. "Turn around and lift your arms."  
(Y/N) complied and giggled with delight as Thor set her firmly on his shoulders. Curling her fingers around two locks of his hair, she tugged experimentally, watching him with hesitance.  
"It does not pain me," he assured her, retrieving the bags and turning in the direction that she'd indicated. "I did the same to my father when I was but a youngling. He would carry Loki and I in this way, as if we were brave warriors and he our mighty steed."  
One hand unfurled and she poked at his shoulder, questioning. He shrugged, clamping his hands around her ankles to keep her from falling. "We grew and aged and were no longer able to sit upon his shoulders." He smiled, canting his face so that she could see. "Now we are strong enough to carry little ones ourselves."  
She grinned back at him as they stepped out of the store and Steve stood to greet them, eyes twinkling at the sight of (Y/N) on Thor's broad shoulders. "All set?" he asked. The pair nodded in response. "So, where to next?"  
(Y/N) pulled gently at Thor's hair, and he winked at Steve. "Wherever the little one takes us, I suppose."  
(Y/N) ended up purchasing a stack of fun and science-filled books for Bruce to read, because she simply couldn't choose only one. As they stood in line, she pushed one last book onto the pile, titled "The Dangerous Book for Boys." Thor spent the better part of twenty minutes insisting that it was a gift more suited for Tony, to no avail.  
Tony, on the other hand, was turning out to be more difficult to buy for than Steve would have thought, as (Y/N) couldn't find anything worthy of the billionaire. She flitted from store to store, turning her little nose up at any and all suggestions. Their saving grace came with a fleeting glance at one of Bruce's new books about Nikola Tesla. Steve read her a bit about the Van de Graff machine, and (Y/N) was entranced. A few swipes on Steve's cell phone and Tony was in possession of his very own.  
She slipped a mechanical bank into the bag for Thor after he spent a large chunk of time feeding coins to it and watching the small figurines dance and spin in response. Steve smiled conspiratorially at her and made the purchase while (Y/N) distracted the demi-god. At the counter, Steve found that (Y/N) had also slipped a watch into their basket. He stared at it for a moment, brow furrowed in thought, while the cashier rang up their purchases. As the man placed it in the bag, Steve realized that she'd bought it for Clint.  
Her presents having been purchased and gift wrapped by the local Girl Scout troop, (Y/N) turned Thor in the direction of the car. Steve buckled (Y/N) into the back with a smile, instructing Thor to put their bags in the trunk.  
The ride home was punctuated by bits of conversation and enthusiastic, poorly sung renditions of Christmas songs on the radio. They arrived with a flurry of activity. Thor removed the bags from the trunk with a promise not to look. (Y/N) bounded towards the labs, Tony's credit card held aloft and her pigtails streaming behind her. Steve watched her run with a slight smile and went upstairs in search of Natasha.  
She was in her room, balancing on a chair to reach into the back of her closet's top shelf. Steve stood in the doorway, his arms crossed.  
"Where is he?"  
Natasha bit back a sigh at the question and stilled, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "On a mission."  
She could feel his frown. "Again?"  
"It's complicated, Steve," she tried, threading one finger through the handle of the bag she was after. "Clint is trying to work through these things on his own."  
"That's not going to cut it," he replied, a hint of steel in his voice and she finally turned around. Steve was wearing his angry Captain's face and looking particularly intimidating. "Clint is running away from this. From her. And we can't let that happen."  
Natasha cocked her head at him, remaining on the chair. "I agree. But why?"  
"Because it just might be good for the both of them."  
Natasha blinked at him, indicating the slightest bit of surprise. Steve raised a brow at her.  
"Go get him."  
"I beg your pardon?" Her voice was lethally quiet.  
He took one step forward, just to let her know that he was being serious. "You either know where he is, or you can find out quickly. We are a family, and (Y/N) is a part of our family now, whether he likes it or not."  
She arched one brow at him, indicating that he should continue.  
"This is not the first time I've had to deal with dissent within my team," he informed her candidly. "Clint has gotten away with far too much for far too long. I realize that he has his reasons, and I'm sure that I'd understand if I knew what they really were, but it's time this whole thing ended. So go. get. him. back."  
Natasha eyed him for a moment more, finally stepping down gracefully from the chair. Walking over to him, she maintained eye contact. "Alright. I'll head out tomorrow."  
He breathed a mental sigh of relief. "Thank you."  
"Do you have a plan?"  
He paused. "Sort of?" he replied in a hopeful tone, causing her to roll her eyes with slight exasperation.  
Patting his arm as she walked past, she assured him, "We'll figure something out. We're a family, after all."  
He grinned. "Yes, we are."  
Christmas morning dawned bright and crisply cold, and Steve relished the quiet as he finished his coffee. And then Tony woke up.  
"Wait! Don't go down yet!" Bruce and (Y/N) turned at Tony's loud outcry. He stumbled down the hallway, desperately trying to pull his sweatpants on. Thor poked his head sleepily out of his room at the commotion, scrubbing at his eyes.  
Bruce smirked slightly at the billionaire. "Why not?"  
Tony didn't even bother to pause. "Because I want to be down there to see her face," he replied evenly, and completely without embarrassment. "Move."  
Bruce obligingly pulled (Y/N) to the side of the hall, allowing Tony to scramble down the stairs. He glanced down at the little girl with a smile. "I think he's more excited about Christmas than you are, shehad."  
(Y/N) giggled into her hand as Tony called up that he was ready. When the two of them stepped off the last stair and turned into the lounge, (Y/N)'s face lit brighter than the tree.  
Late in the night, the tree had been decked from top to bottom in strings of popcorn and cranberry garland. Tiny white lights twinkled from every available inch and bubble lights roiled happily on the ends of the branches. The pile of presents was a particular sight, stretching nearly from one end of the room to the other and bulging out over the train set into the room. Tony grinned indulgently at her as she skipped to him.  
"Go on," he motioned at the presents, gratefully accepting a steaming cup of coffee from Thor. "Tear into them."  
(Y/N) paused, glancing around the room before she settled her piercing gaze on Steve.  
"Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clint had a mission for Mister Fury," he told her quietly, setting a mug of hot cocoa on the table for her. "They wanted to be here for this, but they'll be back as soon as they can. Go ahead and open your presents, sweetheart."  
She, thankfully, missed the soft edge to Steve's voice and dug into the presents, laughing as Tony sat next to her and showed her how to properly rip into the packaging to send wrapping paper into the air. Bruce turned to the soldier.  
"Did they really?"  
"No," Steve murmured, sipping at his own cup of cocoa. "Clint ran away, in effect, and I sent Nat to drag him back."  
"Was that wise?" Thor asked, flicking his eyes between Steve and the spectacle of Tony and (Y/N) unwrapping presents.  
Steve snorted quietly. "Probably not, but Nat seemed to agree that he needed to be brought home. If I'm wrong, then at least I'm not alone."  
Unwrapping the mound of gifts took most of the morning, given the sheer amount. Each of the men had a small pile that they quietly worked through while (Y/N) took her time to examine each new present she'd received.  
Natasha had kitted her out in all forms of little girl ballet clothing that was available, with tickets to see the New York ballet, to the little girl's delight.  
Bruce had surprised the lot of them and gotten (Y/N) a bike. She seemed particularly pleased when he laughingly promised to teach her how to ride it himself, fitting a matching pink helmet onto her head.  
Thor had brought back a glowing ball of light and music that he insisted was a child's toy of some sort. Tony looked like he was itching to take it apart to see how it worked, but (Y/N) seemed to love it.  
Steve had gotten her several old games that he had loved as a child and books, piles upon piles of children's books for them to read together.  
Tony had simply tried to outdo them all and seemingly bought her everything under the sun, which amounted to copious eye rolls from the team.  
When all of the present had been unwrapped, admired, and played with, they sat among the carnage of paper and boxes. Steve set up his new record player, smiling his thanks at (Y/N), and played a Bing Crosby record for the team as they began to clean up.  
Steve cooked up an enormous breakfast and was dishing out fluffy pancakes and eggs and rashers of bacon to the team when Clint and Natasha arrived.  
Agent Sitwell had dropped them off at the road, Clint's bike having been left at SHIELD headquarters. Standing at the end of the private drive, Natasha glanced at Clint.  
"You good now?"  
Clint refused to turn in her direction, to let her know for certain that she'd gotten to him with Steve's spiel about family. He sniffed lightly in the cold, rubbing at his still bruised shoulder. "'M fine."  
It was enough for her, and she nodded in response. She started walking, and together they trudged silently up the drive. The path finally opened up and Natasha sighed with relief at the sight of the mansion. Slightly reenergized, she readjusted the grip on her duffle bag and started up the front stairs,  
Clint stopped at the base, making a strangled noise in the back of his throat. Natasha turned wearily, halfway up. "What?"  
"It's Christmas," he murmured, looking at her with slight panic.  
She stepped heavily back down, dropping her bag with a loud thud. "So?"  
Clint opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "I don't have anything to give her."  
Natasha looked at him with a slight expression of pity and bent double, opening her pack. She pulled out a squashy looking bag, the tissue paper crumpled beyond repair, and tossed it towards him. "You're welcome," she said simply, hauling her bag back onto her shoulder, and slipped into the mansion. Clint waited a few minutes, steadying himself and wondering when she'd found the time to purchase a present, before he followed her.  
(Y/N) was waiting for him in the foyer, still in her nightgown with one long sock falling down, and not another soul in sight. Wordlessly thanking Natasha for her foresight of both purchasing a gift and ensuring the privacy of his reintroduction, Clint held the present out to the little girl.  
She cocked her head at him, her large brown eyes unnerving as she silently accepted the gift. Clint rooted himself to the floor while she warred with herself. In the end, her curiosity won out over her seeming hatred of Clint and she knelt, pulling something large and decidedly toy shaped from the bag.  
It was a bear with caramel colored fur that was dressed in, of all things, a suit. Her little hands trembled as she turned the bear over in her hands. It even had a tiny nametag and, before Clint could marvel at Natasha's attention to detail, he read the name etched into the plastic: Phil C. Bear.  
Son of a bitch.  
Clint schooled his features as the little girl lifted her face, her expressive eyes wet with tears. Clutching the bear to her side, she hugged his leg tightly, sniffling into the material of his pants. Softening, and more emotional himself than he cared to admit, he rested his palm on the crown of her head, ruffling at her hair.  
Movement in his periphery caught his attention and Natasha eyed him impassively. He mouthed his thanks, letting her see the sentiment in his eyes. She nodded once at him and was gone.  
Clint looked back down at the little girl pulling away from his leg. She sniffed once more, hugging the bear to her, and tugged on his pants. Dropping down into a crouch, Clint balanced himself as he caught an armful of small girl.  
"So," he muttered. "We're not done with the thanking."  
She shook her head in response. He chuckled in surprise, squeezing her lightly, and froze when she pressed her lips to his cheek. Voices floated around the corner and she pulled away as the rest of the team arrived.  
She ran to Steve and Tony, excitedly showing them her new bear, and Clint slowly rose from his position. Tony loudly exclaimed that Clint had shown them all up, smiling jokingly at (Y/N). Steve bent down and picked up Clint's duffle, greeting him warmly.  
"Welcome home."


	7. Chapter 7

**_January_**  
Phil C. Bear had not left (Y/N)'s side since Christmas, a furry little bridge between (Y/N) and Clint. The archer watched with interest and slight pride as she toted it with her around the mansion, but the two still danced around each other, neither quite comfortable with making the first move.  
"You're acting like a kid asking a girl to dance for the first time," Tony finally told Clint, sick of watching the pair eye each other like two leery cats. "Stop acting like an idiot."  
So Clint did.  
Natasha was in her room, cleaning her pistols, and did not look up when he entered. Tony had cranked the heat to sweltering temperatures, in deference both to Steve's time in the ice and (Y/N)'s inclination for warm toes without having to wear socks on the hardwood floors, and so Natasha was wearing only shorts and a worn tank top. Clint shifted silently on his feet.  
"I want to try again."  
Natasha stilled, flicking her eyes up. Clint stood in the middle of the room, perfectly motionless, which told Natasha that he was more nervous than he'd care to admit. Slowly, she put the gun on the desk and turned to face him.  
"It won't be easy," she finally said, after a few minutes of letting him sweat. She turned back to her gun, dropping a bit more oil on the barrel. "Even after Christmas. And it will take time."  
"I know," he replied with a quiet earnestness that almost had her smiling in approval. "But I have to try, right?"  
"You don't have to." She pursed her lips, turning back to her weapon. "But it means something that you think you do. So I'll help you."  
She felt him walk up behind her and hover just behind her. Bending low, Clint pressed his forehead into her shoulder, a silent gesture of thanks. Pecking her exposed skin gratefully, he quickly left the room.

* * *

It had been days since he'd gone to Natasha for help, to no avail. Knowing that there would be some kind of signal, Clint been scrutinizing his partner's every move for an indication that he was supposed to take over, but the sign never came.  
Resigning himself to another day of waiting, Clint stole into Steve's room and picked up a novel at random to occupy himself. He was leaning against his headboard, halfway through the story, when Natasha walked in.  
"Come practice with me."  
Clint glanced up from his book, eyebrows arched curiously. He flicked his eyes over Natasha's frame, decked out in a slinky lavender dress. He frowned, immediately wary. "Practice what?"  
"Dancing."  
Clint groaned, slumping in place. She raised one brow sardonically at him, crossing her arms in irritation.  
"Am I that unpleasant?"  
"No." He narrowed his eyes at her, refusing to be caught in her trap. "But it's been years since I was on a mission that required me to dance. I might not remember how, and then you'll yell at me."  
She rolled her eyes and held out a hand entreatingly. "I promise not to yell. Now get up."  
Grumbling beneath his breath, he marked his place and set the book on his bedside table. He grudgingly accepted her hand and allowed her to lead him downstairs. When they stopped at the lounge, where Steve and Thor were clearing the last of the furniture out, he dug his heels into the floor.  
"We are not doing this here."  
Natasha frowned at him. "It has the most space." Looking closely at his pink cheeks, she grinned. "Are you embarrassed?"  
"No," he ground out as a smiling Steve grabbed his coat and shoved Thor outside to the patio. Clint tracked their movements longingly. "Why don't you ask Steve to help you?"  
She glared at him. "Great plan, Mister Sensitive. Let's ask the super soldier, who only ever wanted to dance with his sweetheart and  _never got to_ , to help me practice for my mission."  
"Tony?" Clint winced, suitably chastened, but still more than willing to hand the reins to one of his teammates.  
"Doesn't dance." Natasha picked up the remote to the stereo and pressed play, holding her arms out for Clint to step into. The sounds of a slow waltz filled the air and she wiggled her fingers. "Don't be a girl."  
Snorting, Clint resigned himself to an afternoon of torture and took her right hand in his left, placing his right between her shoulder blades. They moved stiffly with the music as Clint counted the steps in his head. When Natasha tried to help him lead them in a turn, Clint nearly took out her toes with his foot and she spun away from him, glowering.  
Heaving a sigh, she restarted the song. "You know this, Clint. I know you do."  
"And you know that I can only dance well when I'm really drunk," he muttered, resisting the urge to snap at her.  
She frowned and pushed him in front of her, trying to lead him from behind. "Let's try it this way."  
It took roughly two minutes for the both of them to realize that Natasha's new attempt to lead Clint in the correct steps was an utter failure. "This feels weird," he complained, his hands held aloft in the air. "It's like I'm dancing with a ghost."  
She dropped her grip on him and he faced her, grimacing. Natasha pursed her lips for a moment, then stalked away to the labs. He had nearly breathed a sigh of relief when she marched back into the room, (Y/N) trotting behind her.  
Clint froze as the two females approached him. Giving (Y/N) one last glance, Natasha leaned down to pull the little girl's shoes off and picked her up, placing her small, socked feet on top of Clint's. Of their own accord, Clint's hands drew up in front of his torso and gripped (Y/N)'s fingers when she curled them around his to keep her balance.  
She blinked her large eyes at him for a moment, giving Clint the feeling that she was debating a hasty retreat. Instead, she dropped her gaze and squeezed his fingers, steadying herself. He let out a huff of surprised relief, shifting to adjust to the extra weight on his feet. He gradually became aware of Natasha's gaze and raised his eyes to hers.  
"Again," Natasha murmured, and began the music, leading Clint in the waltz.  
Sliding his right foot forward, Natasha quietly counted him through the steps. He gradually began to remember the directions, moving more of his own accord and less because Natasha indicated that he should. As the first song melted into the next, Natasha backed away completely so that Clint was dancing around the room with only (Y/N).  
As he began to remember more and more steps, his movements gained fluidity. He threw in a spin, simply because he could, and nearly tripped at the sound of (Y/N) giggling happily. Grinning himself, Clint relaxed his arms slightly, letting her throw her head back as he spun again.  
Her feet slipped and Clint stopped immediately. The music continued to play and she began to pout, so Clint let some deeply repressed instinct guide him. Leaning down, he fitted his hands beneath her arms and lifted her, setting her gently on his hip. She stared at him with some surprise, her left arm curving around his neck unconsciously. The music track changed again and, holding her right hand aloft, Clint danced her around her around the room. She laughed with delight and Natasha looked on approvingly as they spun past her.  
Bruce walked in as Clint executed a perfect dip, (Y/N)'s ponytail brushing the floor, and Clint paused with the little girl nearly upside down. The scientist smiled warmly, waving at her.  
"Please," he said. "Don't let me stop you."  
Clint slowly brought (Y/N) upright, the music still playing merrily in the background. Natasha intervened, plucking (Y/N) out of his arms with aplomb and setting her on the ground.  
"I'm cutting in, serdce," she told (Y/N) as she nudged the little girl towards Bruce with a grin. "It's my turn."  
(Y/N) hopped up on the window seat, watching the assassins dance with rapt attention. Clint, barefoot and in his most worn jeans, twirled Natasha gracefully around the room, her gown billowing out around them as they moved in the steps of the foxtrot. By the end of the playlist, the entire team had gathered to watch the show.  
It was obvious to everyone that Clint and Natasha were perfect partners. Every movement was exquisitely executed and flawless, riveting. They were magnetic. The last note was struck and the assassins froze, holding out their last pose. (Y/N) burst into applause.  
Clint blinked, finally realizing that whole household was watching. Releasing Natasha, he took one step back, feeling the bridge of his nose heat with slight embarrassment.  
"What are you all staring at?"  
Steve's eyes flicked from Clint to (Y/N), her little face practically glowing, back to Clint.  
"Nothing," the soldier murmured, smiling rather mysteriously. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Her first experiment having worked marvelously, Natasha became relentless in her attempts to help Clint and (Y/N). Phase Two of her plan seemed to include the standard nighttime ritual of tucking (Y/N) in after her bath.  
"Tasha, I don't know how to do this," Clint whined, bracing his hands against the doorframe. He could feel the weight of Natasha's glare between his shoulder blades, but he stubbornly ignored it. He could not, however, ignore her questing fingers when she began tickling the edge of his ribcage. (Y/N) giggled as he pulled his arms in and Natasha shoved him through the doorway.  
"Tuck her in," she commanded, hands on her hips.  
Clint sighed, frowning at the bed as if it were a stack of paperwork two feet high. (Y/N) sat on top of her pillow, her feet tucked beneath her, smiling at his expression. Making shooing motions at her, he stepped up to the edge of the mattress.  
(Y/N) scooted off the pillow and fell back, sprawling contentedly and looking up at him with hopeful eyes. He flung back the bed covers, letting the little girl straighten her legs out, and dropped them. Turning around, he was met with Natasha's steely glare.  
"Tuck her in," she repeated in clipped tones. "Properly."  
Hovering, the redhead gave Clint step by step instructions, patiently teaching him how to properly pull the covers back and up to (Y/N)'s chin, smoothing out the wrinkles. Exasperated, Clint moved to leave and Natasha locked her fingers around his wrist.  
"Now," she instructed. "You kiss her goodnight."  
Clint stared at his partner, brows rising nearly to his hairline. "Seriously?"  
Unable to meet her scowl any longer, he dropped his eyes to the little girl, who was looking up at him with a wistful expression that tugged dangerously at his heartstrings. Uncomfortable with the sentiments in her eyes, he bent quickly at the waist and dropped a sloppy kiss to her forehead, exiting as hastily as he could.  
Natasha glanced back at (Y/N) as she left, her lips quirking at the purely happy smile on the girl's face. She quietly closed the door and looked at Clint, standing at the top of the stairs. He groaned at the look on her face.  
"I'm going to do this every night, aren't I?"  
"Of course not." She smirked at him. "I have Monday nights, Tony takes Tuesdays, Steve laid claim to Wednesdays, and she's coerced Bruce into Thursday nights. The rest of them, you can have," she said, clapping his shoulder as she passed.  
Darting one hand out, Clint snagged her arm and tugged her gently to her room, shutting the door behind them. "What was that, back there?"  
Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "Bedtime?"  
"No." He scowled at her. "The, you know." He waved a hand fervently at the wall. "That."  
She smiled lightly at him. "The fact that she was happy to see you?"  
" _Yes._ "  
Natasha laughed at him, and Clint's frown deepened. Still smirking, she explained, "You danced with her."  
"You made me," he reminded his partner, crossing his arms. "What does that have to do with anything?"  
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter that I brought her in there to begin with or not. You danced with her. That's enough to win over any little girl." She eyed him for a moment, letting him mull things over. "You've got a fighting chance, this time."  
"Don't fuck it up," he murmured to himself, slipping back into the hallway with an air of worry about him as his mind raced. Glancing up at a soft noise, he watched Steve step out of his room, meeting Clint's gaze as he pulled his door shut. They stared at each other for a moment, frozen.  
Steve rallied himself first, eyes flicking to Clint's shaken expression. "Everything alright?"  
Clint nodded jerkily, hoping that he looked more reassuring than he felt. Steve finally released his hold on his doorknob and stepped closer.  
"You sure about that?"  
Clint's mind was whirling, fragments of thoughts chasing each other, and he honestly had no idea what his response was going to be until his mouth opened of its own accord. "I think it would be better if Natasha didn't force me and the kid into things."  
Steve's brows shot skyward. "Considering you're still in possession of all of your limbs, I'm going to assume that you didn't tell her that."  
Clint glared slightly at the captain, who sighed and reopened his door. Clint walked in, dropping into the desk chair and making himself comfortable. Steve carefully closed the door and crossed his arms, scrutinizing Clint.  
"Did you have a particular plan in mind?"  
The archer ran a hand through his hair, frowning. After a moment's consideration, he shrugged. "Something more subtle."  
"I can do subtle," Steve murmured, his eyes distant. The archer huffed a laugh, and Steve's eyes refocused with a snap. "Did you want my help, or Natasha's?"  
Clint stopped laughing and the soldier smirked smugly. Sullen, Clint shifted in the chair. "You going to share your plan?"  
"When I think of one, I'll let you know," Steve replied. At Clint's sudden look of indignation, he continued patiently. "You can't plan for these kinds of things, Clint. She might have a daily routine, but that doesn't mean she sticks to it. Or that we do, for that matter."  
"So I wait," Clint said.  
Steve smiled kindly. "You're good at that."  
Clint glared sardonically at him from under his lashes, but silently agreed.

* * *

The labs were mercifully quiet, both Tony and Bruce with their noses in articles and lab notebooks and new designs, when JARVIS broke the silence.  
" _Sir, Captain Rogers is requesting your presence outside._ "  
Tony stilled, neck deep in blueprints for a new type of Quinjet, and glanced at Bruce incredulously. "Seriously?"  
His fellow scientist snickered, placing a pen in his notebook to mark the place.  
" _I'm afraid so, sir,_ " JARVIS continued blandly. _"He would also appreciate Doctor Banner accompanying you and wishes me to remind you both to dress warmly._ "  
Tony raised a skeptical brow at Bruce. "Warmly?"  
"It  _is_  cold outside," Bruce replied, shrugging into his coat and nudging his friend. "Come on."  
Tony was still grumbling when they opened the patio door and were greeted with a blast of icy winter air. "Why the hell does Spangles want us outside?"  
His answer was a face full of snow and (Y/N)'s laughter echoing across the yard. Wiping his eyes, he glared at the soldier, noting Bruce's muffled snickers beside him. Steve simply chuckled, scooping more snow into his hands. He inclined his head at the billionaire. "You're going to need some ammunition, Tony. I'd get started, if I were you."  
Tony turned to Bruce, his face deadpan. "Science bros?"  
"Science bros," Bruce agreed, crouching down to scrape a few snowballs together.  
"You're going down, Rogers," Tony called, forming his own pile of projectiles.  
"I wouldn't say that," Steve yelled back, disappearing behind the training rooms. He and (Y/N) emerged with armfuls of perfectly rounded snowballs. "We came prepared."  
The snowball fight was fast and furious. At the commotion, Thor joined the Science Bros and Clint dragged Natasha to (Y/N)'s side, shooting the little girl a grin before launching a snowball that nailed Thor in the face. None of them had the heart to hit (Y/N), so she was the only one with dry clothes when the siege was over.  
Bruce, the diplomat, declared the match a draw. Natasha and Tony both put in fitting arguments for their side winning, and the debate grew to an intensity that Bruce and Thor felt the need to intervene.  
Clint, huffing a sigh at his partner, spread his arms and fell backwards onto the snow, scissoring his arms and legs. Steve, smiling, offered him a hand up and they both grinned nostalgically at the image left behind.  
(Y/N) tugged on Steve's pants leg. He glanced down at her, reading the question on her face. "It's a snow angel," he explained. "Have you never made one before?"  
"No," Clint murmured, answering for her. "Phil liked winter, but he never really liked snow. Thought it was too cold and a nuisance."  
Steve shifted his gaze from Clint to (Y/N) and back again. "Here, sweetheart." He stepped away, nudging (Y/N) towards Clint. "How about I make some hot cocoa for everyone and Uncle Clint teaches you how to make snow angels?"  
He met Clint's eyes for a moment, just long enough for Clint to realize that this was Steve's plan. With that, the soldier turned on his heel and walked away, earning an approving nod from Natasha. Clint stared blankly at his retreating back, dropping his eyes when the little girl tugged hesitantly at his jeans.  
"Okay, kid," he muttered, leading her to a clean patch of snow. "First, you let yourself fall."  
She met his gaze dubiously, and Clint saw her concern as plain as day.  
"It won't hurt," he assured her. When she made no move, he wrinkled his nose. "Can you trust me for a second?"  
He honestly hadn't realized what he'd said until he'd said it, the implications and deeper meanings curling through the air. He held his breath for a long moment, letting it out with a whoosh when she gave him a tiny nod. Smiling, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, he held his hands out for hers and gently leaned her back into the snow.  
Quietly, he instructed her on the proper way to fall on her own and to remember to get full extension to make the best angel possible. When he felt she was finished, he held out his hands again and lifted her completely from the ground.  
Turning around, she giggled with delight at the impression she'd left and Clint couldn't help but grin at her happiness.

* * *

The snowball fight succeeded in lightening everyone's mood. Dinner was a laugher-filled affair for the first time in weeks and Steve was still whistling when the team gathered for breakfast in the morning.  
"You are far too chipper, Spangles," Tony complained, cradling his head with one hand and his cup of coffee with the other. "Think you can be a little less of a morning person?"  
"Drink your coffee," Steve advised. "That'll help."  
"You're unbearable without caffeine," Bruce laughed, reaching around Tony to grab an orange from the basket. He slid into the chair beside the billionaire. "You should make a pill or something."  
"I tried," Tony groaned, curling his upper body around his cup. "I couldn't make the delivery system fast enough to work."  
Steve burst into laughter as he set a stack of waffles on the table. "Poor you," he murmured, retrieving the coffeepot and refilling Tony's cup. "It's reassuring to know that some things are still beyond your grasp."  
"That was practically mean of you," Tony muttered, greedily clutching his coffee. "Stop hanging around me. I'm a horrible influence."  
"I think I can resist your charms," Steve replied as Clint stumbled into the room.  
"Coffee," the archer mumbled. "Need coffee."  
Steve handed him a steaming mug, glancing in the direction of the stairs, and Clint groaned gratefully. "I wonder where (Y/N) and Natasha are?"  
Clint grunted, swallowing a large sip. "Nat's dressing the kid," he informed them, looking longingly at the plate of waffles. Bruce pushed the plate closer with one fingertip, smirking when Clint picked one up and took a bite as if it were a piece of toast.  
"Are there plans for today?" Tony asked, finally in a state of relative consciousness.  
Steve snorted. "Do we ever have plans?"  
Tony glowered at him, reaching out his empty cup. "I was just wondering if I was going to ambushed again?"  
"I have no plans to that effect," Steve assured him, obliging Tony with a refill as Bruce laughed aloud.  
"Good," Tony murmured. "Then I'm going to the labs. Keep away, Spangles. I don't trust you."  
Steve chuckled at his retreating back. Tony waved at (Y/N) as she skipped lightly down the stairs to the breakfast table, and promptly lost himself in his work.  
"Good morning," Natasha greeted, slipping into a seat at the end of the table. (Y/N) hopped to Steve's side, looking hopefully at the countertop. He smiled, giving her a prepared plate. She took it with a grin of thanks and plopped herself right next to Clint.  
Blinking once, he eyed her as she tucked into her food. Shaking his head, he drained his cup. "I've got some work to do," he said, speaking more to Natasha than anyone else. "Think Stark will clear the snow from the range if I ask him nicely?"  
Natasha shook her head, thanking Steve when he set a plate in front of her. "I'd just threaten him. It gets the job done much faster." Smirking, Clint stood and headed down to the lab.  
"Hey Stark." Clint poked his head around the doorframe. "Go burn the snow off the range for me."  
Tony raised his head, staring at Clint. "I'm not quite a fan of the orders, in case you haven't noticed."  
"Go burn the snow off of the range for me or I'll shadow you for the rest of the day, breathing in your ear."  
Tony debated the threat for a moment, his scowl growing blacker and blacker. "Oh, you would," he finally sighed. "Fine. Give me a sec."  
"Pleasure doing business with you, Iron Ass," Clint said amiably, retreating back upstairs and passing (Y/N) on his way to change into his gear.  
"Be right with you, munchkin," Tony called as the Mark VII assembled itself around him. "I'm doing Clint a favor real quick."  
He shot out of the garage and over the range, clearing the snow and drying the ground out in a matter of minutes.  
The mansion was oddly silent when he returned, and Tony frowned at the lack of noise. Disassembling the suit, he checked every corner of the lab, beneath all the tables, and the break room. "JARVIS, where's (Y/N)?"  
"Miss (Y/N) is following Agent Barton to the outdoor range, sir."  
Tony processed the information. "Does he know she's there?"  
"It would appear so, sir."  
"Alright then," Tony muttered, turning back to his desk and opening a display.

* * *

Clint had changed into his tactical gear and was barely out of the yard when he noticed his little shadow. (Y/N) trailed a few yards behind him and met his gaze unrepentantly when he glanced back at her. He sighed slightly and had a fleeting sense of panic at the thought of spending time with her without Steve or Natasha as backup. After a few moments of hesitation, he motioned her forward, waiting until she caught up with him.  
He consciously shortened his stride, allowing her to walk beside him to the archery range. Setting up at one of the lanes at the far end, he nudged the little girl well behind the firing line. Breathing out slowly, he raised his bow and allowed the repetition of hitting stationary targets calm his mind.  
He emptied the first quiver with relative swiftness, and walked calmly to retrieve his arrows, aware that she was following at his heels. She took the last one from his hand, looking up at him uncertainly when her fingers clamped around the shaft.  
Clint said nothing, letting her keep the arrow as they walked back to the end of the lane. He noticed her watching him with avid curiosity as he drew the bowstring back and let another arrow fly. Turning to her, he cocked his head. "Did you want to try?"  
The smile that lit her face was blinding, and Clint felt himself grin in return. "It's hard," he warned her, allowing her to step in front of him.  
She reached eagerly for the bow, and Clint bit back a chuckle at her enthusiasm. Seeing that the bow was nearly as tall as she was, he moved the range table in front of the target and lifted her on top. Clint removed his armguard and strapped it carefully to her arm, ignoring the frank way she watched him.  
He placed her little palm around the grip as he helped her support the weight of the bow. She curled her fingers around the bowstring and pulled with all her might, bending the string back less than a quarter of the way. Turning to him in frustration, she looked up with an expression of pure dismay.  
Clint couldn't help but chuckle at her dismal look, murmuring instructions as he righted her position and placed his fingers gently over hers, pulling back on the string.  
"Now, keep your eye on the target," he muttered, watching with amusement as her tongue poked out of her mouth in concentration. Quickly gauging her aim, he steadied her arms with his. "Now, when I count to three, you let go. One, two, three."  
Clint loosed the arrow a split second after her fingers released the string, and she laughed in delight when it hit the bull’s-eye. She turned in the cage his body made around her and threw her arms around his neck, pressing a happy kiss to his cheek. Crawling down from the table as Clint froze in astonishment, she proceeded to dance wildly around the range. Shaking his head, he herded her behind the line of fire and continued his practice.  
He'd worked his way through three full quivers when he heard her cry out in surprised pain. Moving quickly, he knelt beside her as she cradled her skinned palm. She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. Calmly, Clint popped open one of the compartments on his uniform belt and pulled out the field med kit kept there. Wiping away the bit of blood that welled up, he smeared a dab of cream on the scrape and smoothed a band aid over the top.  
"Better?" He tilted her chin ever so slightly to meet her gaze, like he'd seen Steve and Tony do on so many other occasions. (Y/N) nodded, to his relief, and rubbed a fist across her eyes. He stood, ruffling her hair, and walked back to retrieve his arrows. He slipped them back in their holders and loaded his bow, clicking the case shut. "Ready to head back?"  
She nodded, walking beside Clint to the path towards the mansion. He glanced back to see if she was there, somewhat surprised to see her at his hip. She looked up at him with large brown eyes for a moment, and then held her little hand out.  
Clint stared blankly at it for a moment, his brain aware that he was supposed to take her hand without quite registering the information. Her fingers twitched in a wiggle and his palm reached out of his own accord, grasping hers.

* * *

Clint stoutly ignored the knowing glances sent his way as they walked into the mansion, hand in hand. Steve immediately pressed warm mugs of cider into their grasp as they came in from the patio, smiling kindly at (Y/N)'s cheerful face. They'd been out long enough to warrant a stern lecture from Natasha as to the evils of cold weather and skipping lunch, which Clint bore with resigned patience.  
"The kid is fine," he protested when his partner paused for breath. "Look at her. Happy as a fucking lark."  
" _Language_ ," Natasha hissed, her eyes spitting fire. She turned to Steve. "What's that baseball phrase? About kids and eavesdropping?"  
Steve paused in the process of peeling off (Y/N)'s outerwear, floundering for the idiom. "Little pitchers have big ears?"  
"Yes, that," she crowed triumphantly as Steve finally untangled the girl's scarf and wrested her arms from her coat sleeves, turning the whole garment inside out.  
Clint rolled his eyes and leaned over in front of (Y/N), resting his hands on his knees. "I use bad language. Words like shit and fuck and damn," he told her candidly. "If you don't hear Steve say it, then you don't say it. Deal?"  
Solemnly, she nodded and Steve snorted with laughter. Natasha looked decidedly unamused, but her tirade was cut short by Thor's entrance.  
"It appears that you have received a package, Barton," he rumbled, holding what looked to be an evidence box out to Clint. Frowning, Clint took it from him, inspecting the sides, which were marked with little other than his name and ID number written boldly on a Post-It.  
"From who?"  
Thor shook his head. "I believe it is from Director Fury. I was visiting Jane Foster and Dr. Selwig entrusted the package to me, claiming that I could deliver it swifter than your mailing system."  
"It's probably just some old files and stuff." Clint shrugged, tucking the box behind the couch. "I'll take a look at it later. In the meantime, where's the food? I'm starving." (Y/N) jumped up, silently but resoundingly agreeing.  
"There's a casserole in the oven," Steve assured them. "It should be done within fifteen minutes, which is just enough time for you two to get cleaned up for dinner."  
Clint rolled his eyes, but headed for his bathroom nonetheless. "Sometimes, you really sound like a mom."  
"Keep talking, Barton," Steve teased back good-naturedly. "I'll stop feeding you."  
Clint paused on the stairs, leaning back to allow (Y/N) to scurry past him. "I can feed myself, you know."  
"And I bet it tastes awful," the soldier replied, pulling on a pair of oven mitts. "Think about that."  
Frowning as Natasha began telling horror stories of his time in the kitchen, Clint hurried upstairs. Testing Steve's bluff was not actually on his agenda for the day.

* * *

It was almost two in the morning when Clint remembered that he'd left Fury's package downstairs. Groaning, and knowing he'd never be able to sleep now that his curiosity was well and truly piqued, he rolled out of bed and shuffled barefoot to the lounge.  
The lid was taped down, so Clint pulled one of Natasha's knives from its hiding place beneath the couch cushion to slit the packing tape. Replacing the knife and prying the lid off, he peeked inside to find an odd assortment of objects and a bulky envelope, his name on the front in Coulson's handwriting.  
"Well, fuck," he muttered through a suddenly choked throat. Rifling through the first few layers of objects, his questing fingers reached something furred and rough. Tugging, Clint pulled out Coulson's most prized possession.  
Tears pricked at his eyes, unbidden, and he clamped down on the urge to let his exhaustion rule his emotions. Slapping the cards gently against his forehead in silent rebuke, he set them in the box, on the very top. Shaking his head at himself, he replaced the lid and tucked the carton beneath his arm.  
The moon was large and full, shining brightly though the windows, so Clint did not feel the need to turn on any lights. Picking his way through the room by silvered sight, he focused his attention on moving silently and avoiding the creaky floorboards.  
He let out a small 'oof' of surprise as something small and decidedly little girl-shaped barreled into his legs, breaking his concentration. He dropped the box, frowning slightly when the lid popped off and some of the content spilled out onto the floor. Reaching down, he hauled (Y/N) to her feet, finally noticing the tear tracks on her face in the moonlight.  
"Where's the fire?" He eyed her for a moment, his tired brain first realizing that the girl had had another nightmare and was on her way to Tony for comfort, and then noticing that her eyes were fixed on a point on the floor.  
Tears streaming steadily down her face, she knelt to the ground and gingerly picked up the stack of Captain America trading cards that had scattered on the hardwood. Clint made a move to stop her, but he paused at the careful way she was holding the cards to her chest. He dropped to the floor beside her, leaning back against the wall, and tugged on her nightdress until she slid next to him. Cautiously putting his arm around her, he pulled her in close and rested his chin on the crown of her head, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.  
"Yeah," he murmured as her little body shook with silent sobs. "Yeah, I miss him too."  
They sat for hours, until (Y/N) finally cried herself to sleep, small hands still grasping Phil's trading cards. When he was sure that she was in a deep enough sleep, Clint rose, taking her smoothly into his arms. With one hand, he swept the scattered items back into the open box and replaced the lid. Tucking (Y/N) more securely against his side, he picked up the case with his free hand and ascended the stairs.  
He carried her into her bedroom and set the box near the door. He turned down the covers, gently laying her in bed. Pulling the blankets up like Natasha had taught him, he plucked the stack of cards from her lax grip and set them reverently on the bedside table. She caught his finger as he turned to leave, looking up at him with liquid eyes.  
She said nothing, but Clint knew what she wanted. Folding his legs beneath him, he dropped gracefully to the carpet. Propping his arm on the edge of her bed, he let (Y/N) maintain the firm grasp she had on his left hand as he settled back against the mattress.  
She sighed contentedly, curling her little body around his forearm as she fell back to sleep. Clint stayed awake the rest of the night, only moving when Natasha opened the door in the morning. She looked slightly startled to see him there, but her roving eyes took in the look on Clint's face, the desperation in (Y/N)'s grasp on his arm, and the stack of cards on the table.  
Nodding in understanding, she slipped back out into the hallway, leaving Clint to keep his watch.

* * *

"What do you mean  _you're leaving_?"  
Natasha rolled her eyes, carefully folding a pair of pants and stuffing them into an open suitcase. "It's only for one night," she soothed. "I'm helping one of the new agents out on her mission and she needs me to run interference at a gala."  
Clint stared incredulously at her. "Are you joking? I feel like you're joking."  
"It's not that big of a deal," she said, frowning. "I'm just her distraction. It's not like I'm doing anything important."  
Clint nearly growled. "That is not what I meant, and you fucking know it," he ground out. "Steve is at the helicarrier for the monthly meet up, Hulk and Thor are playing Brokeback in the Catskills, and now you're stealing away on some fucking mission for a newbie whose name I can't even remember?"  
"Stealing away?" She smirked at Clint. "At least I'm warning you that I'm leaving."  
"You're leaving that kid alone with me and Tony for two days," he reiterated. "This is the stupidest plan ever."  
"One night," she corrected patiently. "And you will survive."  
"I wasn't worried about me," he muttered petulantly. She snorted indelicately.  
"Yes, you were," she told him. "Calm down. You know her routines, as does Tony and (Y/N) herself. Just keep her fed and clean and she'll entertain herself. It's not that difficult."  
Zipping her bag shut, she slung it over her shoulder and walked towards him. Patting him on the cheek with the slightest hint of condescension, she smiled as she passed.  
Clint raised his eyes heavenward. "We are so fucked."

* * *

Natasha was right, as it turned out, which he would never admit. Steve had left a few meals in the fridge that were easy to reheat, and Tony was rather adept at making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. (Y/N) spent most of her day in the lab, playing while Tony worked, and emerged only when she was hungry or extremely bored. By the end of the afternoon, Clint was thinking that he might actually survive.  
And then came nightfall.  
Tony and (Y/N) surfaced from the labs to find Clint channel surfing on the couch. At the sight of them, the archer stood hastily, pointing at the little girl.  
"She needs a bath," Clint stated, crossing his arms to emphasize his point.  
Tony stared at him, incredulous. "What? Why?"  
Clint shifted, somewhat uncomfortable. "She always gets a bath before she goes to bed."  
Tony looked down at (Y/N), who simply stared impassively back at him. Frowning, he bent down and nosed at her hair. "Whatever," he turned to Clint. "She smells fine."  
"Are you fucking kidding?" Clint gaped at Tony. "Did you just smell her?"  
Tony rolled his eyes and picked (Y/N) up, holding her out to Clint. "Seriously, sniff that hair! She doesn't need a bath at all!"  
"I'm not smelling her," Clint informed him. "And she's getting a bath. It's routine."  
The two men glowered at each other for a few moments, until Tony caved in the face of Clint's certainty. He sighed. "Fine. Let's go, kiddo. Apparently, you're getting a bath, even though it's not nearly bedtime. Oh, and Clint," he pierced the archer with a glare. "You're helping."  
Clint frowned at Tony, but followed the pair as they traipsed up the stairs. Tony ran the bathwater, frowning at the myriad of bath products that seemed to have taken over the bathroom and selected one at random, pouring it ruthlessly under the running water. Turning off the taps, he stepped back and eyed the tub like it was a poisonous snake. Clint sighed and glanced down at (Y/N).  
"Well, get in." She looked dubiously at him, but compliantly began to remove her clothes.  
"Whoa!" Tony clasped his hands over her arms, stopping her from stripping. She huffed in frustration, wiggling at his grip. Straightening, he frowned and clapped a hand over his eyes so that she could continue. Peeking out after a second, he slammed a hand over Clint's eyes as well. Clint was silent, but Tony could feel the weight of his scowl.  
The bathwater splashed and Tony dropped his palms, relieved. Picking up a rag, he soaped it thoroughly and eyed the little girl. Clint bit his lip. "Just give it to her."  
"Really?" Tony turned to look questioningly at him. "Can she do that herself?"  
Clint threw his hands up. "How the hell should I know? I don't remember being five. Could you bathe yourself at that age?"  
"I have no idea," Tony admitted. (Y/N) sighed, holding out her little hand for the cloth. He passed it to her, somewhat relieved when she began to wash herself. Suddenly realizing what came after her bath, he turned to Clint. "Where are her clothes?"  
Clint arched an eyebrow at him and pointed to the pile of dirty pink clothes on the floor.  
Tony glared at him. " _Clean_  clothes, dumbass."  
"Probably in her room," Clint replied dryly. Tony dismissed him.  
"Go get something for her to wear."  
Clint balked. "You go get it."  
"Someone has to watch her," Tony reprimanded him. "And I don't trust you. Besides, this was your idea, so you get to ransack her clothes."  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Clint groused, exiting the bathroom and heading to the dresser. He rifled through the drawers for a minute and returned as (Y/N) was emerging from the bathwater. Tony, eyes screwed shut, quickly wrapped a towel around her and turned to Clint.  
"Here you go," Clint said, handing over the tiny pair of pink princess panties he gripped between two fingers.  
"Where's the nightgown?"  
Clint shrugged, shaking the panties for emphasis. (Y/N) reached up, one little hand clutching the towel around herself, and snatched the underwear from his fingers. "There wasn't one in any of the drawers."  
"She's always got one of those tiny dresses." Tony frowned. "She's got to wear something more than underwear to bed."  
(Y/N) let the towel drop and Clint glanced down at her. In one swift movement, he stripped the shirt from his torso and pulled it over her head. She beamed at him, and he offered a small half smile back.  
"Barton, she can't wear that," Tony protested, wrinkling his nose as (Y/N) grabbed the hairbrush from the counter and began to try and untangle her wet hair.  
"Why not?" Clint asked as he gently pried the brush from her fingertips and set about working the tangles out of her locks. "It's clean."  
"You were wearing it," Tony replied dryly. "That automatically makes it dirty."  
"Deal with it," Clint retorted, picking at a particularly stubborn snarl. "She's fine."  
Tony watched him brush (Y/N)'s hair from a few more minutes, his face growing more and more contemplative. "It's Friday."  
"No shit," Clint murmured absently.  
Tony flicked his ear in reproach, silently thankful that Clint was too occupied with (Y/N) to punch him in retaliation. "I know what we do on Friday," he muttered, thinking. "But what do little girls do on Friday?"  
"Not a clue," Clint answered, giving the brush one last run through and separating her hair into two pieces. "Ask JARVIS."  
"JARVIS," Tony called, placing a comforting hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder. She leaned forward, burying her nose in his stomach as Clint began to braid pigtails into her hair. "What do girls on Friday nights?"  
" _Females ages twenty-one to forty-five appear to spend Friday evenings at bars of all sorts and strip clubs,"_ the AI responded. " _Ages sixteen to twenty-one, when not in possession of an illegal license, prefer house parties._ "  
"Younger, JARVIS," Clint advised, exasperated. "The kid is five."  
" _Females ages five to twelve appear to engage in what is known as a sleepover._ "  
Tony clapped his hands together. "Alright JARVIS, send me all the information you have on them to my tablet. We're having a sleepover."  
Clint arched a brow at him. "I am not a girl."  
Tony scowled. "Get your ass down there,  _princess_. We're having a sleepover."  
It turned out that sleepovers for five year olds mostly involved pizza, snacks, movies, and hair braiding. Hair braiding having been accomplished, Tony set about completing the other tasks on his list. Clint popped popcorn and ordered pizza, while (Y/N) helped Tony string twinkle lights across the ceiling. Tony pulled comforters down to the main lounge, cushioning the floor with them and rigged a top sheet into a roof for their makeshift fort.  
Nodding proudly at their work, he glanced down at her. "What's next, munchkin?"  
She moved to the rack of DVDs and began plucking out any case that had either the Disney logo or a princess on the cover. She handed him a stack that was nearly taller than she was, and Tony laughed.  
"You got it, kiddo." He turned towards the kitchen. "Hurry up, Katniss. It's movie time!"  
Clint simply glared at him, setting two large bowls of popcorn at the edge of the fort and retreated back to the kitchen for beverages. (Y/N) darted up the stairs and brought down a large kit of pastel, glittery items, smiling broadly at Tony's skeptical face. Plunking it down, she rummaged through it for a moment and picked out a long pink ribbon. Stepping forward, she sat herself on Tony's lap and tied it in a sloppy bow around the strap of his tank top.  
"For me?" He eyed her questioningly, picking at the tails of the bow. She nodded proudly and he dropped a kiss to her hair. "Thanks, kiddo. Let's find you one too."  
He was tying a shiny silver ribbon around her waist, effectively belting Clint's shirt somewhat so that she stopped tripping over the hem, when the doorbell rang. "Clint," he yelled over his shoulder. "Go pay the social outcast that's bringing us food."  
Clint ducked under the tent and snickered at Tony's new accessory. "You go pay him. You have the cash, and I'm only half dressed."  
Tony grumbled slightly, his mood lightening when (Y/N) held a purple ribbon out to Clint entreatingly. He picked his way gingerly over the toys they had left in the hallway and opened the door.  
The delivery boy was, predictably, pimply-faced, barely out of driving school, and absolutely of insufficient coolness to be able to laugh at Tony's pink bow without retribution. Tony narrowed his eyes at the kid's stifled chuckle.  
'You know," he began conversationally as he pulled bills from his wallet. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone in the town, they A, won't believe you, and B, will tell me. Do you think that would be wise?" The kid looked appropriately terrified as he shook his head no. Tony smirked, slapping the money into his suddenly sweaty palm, and took the pizzas. "Glad we had this chat. Move along."  
The billionaire smiled with satisfaction as he sent the delivery boy packing and carried the pizzas into the fort. Clint had piled every pillow he could find beneath the roof and they'd started  _How to Train Your Dragon_ , which was more palatable to Tony than a princess movie _._  
Clint was now sporting the purple ribbon firmly around his left bicep and was working more ribbons through (Y/N)'s hair. Tony grinned, but said nothing, setting the pizza boxes on the carpet and settling back to watch the movie.

* * *

It was still dark when Natasha returned to the mansion. Her mission had gone flawlessly, she'd rushed Hill through her debriefing and broken triple-digit speeds on the drive home. Parking the car and moving through the house silently, she frowned at the dim, flickering glow coming from the lounge. She bemusedly eyed the large sheet over the couches, strung up with Christmas lights, and then peeked beneath it.  
Tony was sprawled over what had to be every comforter in the house, most of his limbs spread in wild abandon. There was a pink bow tied loosely around the strap of his tank and she was certain that the bits of string knotted around his wrist were called friendship bracelets.  
Clint was on his side, facing Tony, with (Y/N) nestled happily in the crook of his arm. Bracelets similar to Tony's encircled her little wrists, giving Natasha the impression that Clint was hiding a matching set beneath the coverlet. Both of the child's hands were reaching out, grasping Tony's left arm, even in sleep.  
The scene was ridiculously heartwarming, and too wonderful to disturb. Natasha smiled, leaning against the wall for a moment, and shook her head at Clint's transformation. Tossing her bag over her shoulder, she headed upstairs for a quick shower and few hours of sleep.  
Steve returned from the helicarrier a couple of hours later and stopped short at the sight beneath the fort. Grinning broadly, he tiptoed to the television and turned it off, finally stopping the flickering light. He lightly climbed the stairs to drop his duffle in his room and check on Natasha. Finding everything as it should be, he crept back down the stairs and starting fixing breakfast.  
Bruce and Thor joined him in time for the first helping of eggs and pancakes. Bruce merely smiled at the makeshift campsite and shook his head. Thor said nothing, but the vibrations from his footsteps woke Clint. The archer shifted, tightening his grip on (Y/N) and raised himself up on one arm. Glaring blearily out from beneath the fort, he glanced down at the little girl and frowned.  
"Still sleepin'," he slurred tiredly. "Shut up."  
Bruce snickered with amusement, placing two large mugs of coffee at the entrance to the fort. "Should we wake them?"  
Steve snorted, handing him a cup of tea. "For the first time since we moved in, it's quiet," the soldier announced dryly. "Let's try and keep the peace a bit longer."  
"Besides," Thor whispered. "If we wake them, we must share the morning meal, correct?"  
"Too right," Natasha muttered, gliding silently down the stairs and filching one of Bruce's peace offerings. Sipping at her stolen coffee, she gently herded the others back into the kitchen. "Let them sleep."


	8. Epilogue

_Click._  
The shutter sound was unbelievably loud in the silent room, and Steve bit back a wince at the noise. Glancing down and seeing that nothing had happened, he braved another shot.  
Clint was lying on his back, his legs propped up on the armrest of the couch and crossed at the ankles. One arm was tucked beneath his head and his other curled protectively around the little girl that was draped bonelessly over his chest.  
Natasha's hushed entrance from the patio created the slightest breeze of chilly, night air, and (Y/N) snuggled closer into Clint's warmth. At the movement, the archer simply tightened his grip to secure her. Steve glanced at the redhead when she stopped beside him.  
"That," he whispered. "Is the most adorable thing I have ever seen in my entire life."  
She smiled. "Agreed."  
"Why the hell are you whispering?" Both soldier and assassin rounded on Tony, shushing him and pointing at the sleeping pair on the couch. Creeping forward, he peeked over the back of the sofa. "Please tell me you have blackmail pictures."  
"I have pictures," Steve replied hesitantly. "But I don't think I'm giving them to you."  
Tony snorted lightly, ghosting a hand over (Y/N)'s hair. "Whatever, Spangles. The next time Clint pisses me off, I'm hacking your computer and posting them all over headquarters."  
"You will not," Bruce admonished, having followed Tony upstairs. "He's finally comfortable enough with us, and with her, that I don't think we should torture him anymore."  
Tony frowned. "I'm not torturing him. Currently."  
"Bruce has a point, Tony," Steve put in, and the billionaire threw his hands up in surrender. "Clint's come a long way since August. It might be nice if we cut him some slack."  
"Appreciate that, Cap," Clint muttered, his eyes slitting open. He glanced at Tony. "The next time your hand enters my personal space when I'm sleeping, you lose it. You're lucky I realized it was you and restrained myself."  
Tony looked curiously at him. "How exactly were you going to remove my hand?"  
The arm tucked behind his head slid from beneath the pillow cushion and emerged, gripping a wicked looking blade. Steve whistled slightly and Natasha's face lit with surprise.  
"I was wondering where I put that," she murmured, taking it from his hand. Thor walked in as she tucked the blade away.  
"I'm not sure I wish to ask," he said. Shaking his head, he turned to Steve. "What film are we to view tonight?"  
"It's my pick," Tony announced, shooting Steve a devilish grin. " _The Star Spangled Man_?"  
"Absolutely not," the soldier replied firmly. "The last thing I need is you lot teaching (Y/N) that damned song."  
"That just moved up to number one on my to-do list," Clint muttered, grinning unrepentantly at Steve's glare. He rubbed a hand down (Y/N)'s back as she grew restless.  
Bruce carefully eyed her movements as Thor began to make popcorn for the team. "Let's watch something innocuous," he suggested. "Just in case she wakes up while the movie is playing. What's in the DVD player?"  
Natasha began the movie, slipping beneath Clint's propped up feet to curl into a corner of the couch. The opening menu of  _Despicable Me_  began to play and Clint groaned slightly.  
"We are the biggest badasses on the face of the planet, and this is what we are reduced to," he muttered beneath his breath, stealing a handful of popcorn from Thor's bowl. "I feel slightly emasculated."  
"Good, because I feel extremely emasculated," Tony replied, sprawling on the end of the other couch.  
Steve frowned at them, taking the offered glass from Bruce. "We can still be superheroes," he reminded them. "As long as she's happy, why should we care?"  
Tony stared at him, a handful of popcorn halfway to his open mouth. "Seriously, how have you not gotten laid yet?"  
"Shut up." Steve tossed a kernel at Tony, the tips of his ears going red.  
"Behave boys," Natasha reprimanded, wiggling her fingers at Thor for a popcorn bowl. "No food fights until I'm properly armed."  
The banter continued good naturedly as Tony stole the remote from Natasha and began the movie. JARVIS dimmed the lights and the conversation died down as Earth's mightiest heroes settled in on a Saturday night to watch cartoons.  
(Y/N) shifted a little, tensing slightly as she blinked bleary eyes. Unnoticed, she glanced around at the assembled team and relaxed. Squirming to find the best spot, she rubbed her cheek against Clint's sternum.  
"G'night, Uncle Clint," she whispered, almost too soft for him to hear. He smiled warmly, pressing a kiss to her hair.  
Dipping his head, and praying that no one else could hear him, he whispered back, "Good night, baby."

* * *

_Fin._   
**thank you for everyone who read this FanFiction.  
You're all the best.**


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